


Impossible Things

by Zoa



Series: Impossible Things [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Star Trek
Genre: Adventure, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Romance, Sherlock/Star Trek AU, rating may change as I go, spacey-wacey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoa/pseuds/Zoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is a scientist aboard the NCC Baker-W1221B, a new experimental deep space vessel meant for exploring previously unknown parts of space, Expedition Farscape, which Sherlock is leading. The captain of the Baker is Gregson Lestrade, a man Sherlock respects but doesn't always listen to, with first mate Sally Donovan, who Sherlock detests. He's forced to work with them, however, because he is on the brink of the greatest discoveries the galaxy will ever make. With him is his best friend and colleague Dr. John Watson, medical lead, John's wife Mary, lead security for the expedition, and Anderson, a brilliant but supremely annoying chemicals expert. Also part of the mission is Dr. Molly Hooper, an anthropologist and medical doctor, who Sherlock will come to see as invaluable on their mission and to his life.<br/>On their journey they come across many new species and amazing discoveries. Though some of these species are less than friendly. Moriarty, a member of a human-like but vicious race called the Donas, is ruthlessly after Sherlock for destroying his plans of galactic domination. He'd will not rest until Sherlock and his entire crew is decimated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Whole New Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place about a hundred years or so after the event of Star Trek: Into Darkness and/or Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, and ten years after the events of the last season in Star Trek: Voyager. Hopefully that's a good frame of reference, but if not (because I'm a major nerd and sometimes underestimate how deeply submerged I am in nerdiness), then just pay attention to the first bit of this note: It's after Khan, which may come into play later, seeing as how Sherlock looks SO much like our favorite Star Trek villain.
> 
> The Stardate system, starting with Chapter 3, goes like this: Year.Month.Day

Stardate 2433.9.: Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, California, Earth

Dr. John Watson, M.D., strode purposefully down the long hallway of the research wing at Star Fleet. He was looking for a particular room, and a particular man, who happened to be late for the launching of Starfleet’s latest (and perhaps greatest, if John were so bold) expedition, which this man happened to be leading. Of course he wouldn’t be on time, John fumed to himself. Sherlock Holmes, Ph.D., was always late unless he wanted to be on time, which was rare considering he was always running some sort of experiment and those took up nearly all of his time.

“My work is important, John,” Holmes would say if John brought up the fact he never left the lab. “I don’t have time for trifles like what you call a ‘life’.”

John shook his head at the memory of the exchange, and stopped to pause just outside the door to the laboratory. He prepared himself for whatever was going on inside and stepped through, half expecting some sort of explosion. No such thing occurred, but he did see his friend bent over the mummified head of a Romulan. “Sherlock!” John exclaimed. “What are you doing? You can’t start another experiment now, we have to leave!” Sherlock looked at John with an annoyed glare.  
“The expedition can’t leave without me as I am not only the lead, but also the primary provider of funds. They can wait.” He went back to his study of the head, pointedly ignoring his friend’s irritated huff.  
“So are you never going to leave, then? For a Romulan head, you’re going to give up the biggest opportunity for study you’ve ever had?” John asked, gesturing at the skull and then pointing his finger at Sherlock. “I know that’s not true.” Sherlock sighed and straightened up, put the head back in its container, a metal box, and placed it in a small, portable, refrigeration unit. John watched in silence, realizing he’d finally managed to get Sherlock to move. “Good,” he said, nodding. “Good. Wait, what are you doing?” He watched his friend walk by, the unit in tow.  
“I’m taking this experiment with me, John,” Sherlock replied, striding through the door. “Now come on!” He called. “We’ve got a ship to board!” John growled in exasperation and ran after Sherlock. The man was impossible sometimes.

* * *

Having Sherlock Holmes cooped up on a ship, no matter how large, was not the ideal situation for Captain Gregson Lestrade. He’d rather sit in the middle of a Ferengi auction than be in close quarters for five years with Sherlock; but for some inexplicable reason the man had personally requested Lestrade as captain for the expedition. How could he refuse such a request, especially when it came through Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft Holmes, who just happened to be rather influential to the Starfleet admirals. So it happened that Lestrade was stuck on a ship with the one man that always managed to get under his skin, though even Lestrade couldn’t deny the man was brilliant. An adulterated and invariable prat, but brilliant. Another reason not to refuse the position of captain of the Baker was the fact that the ship was the best in her class, and brand new, with this expedition (and consequently the captain) going down in history as one of the most important occurrences of the age. Lestrade was no fool. He knew what this meant for his career.

None of that was an excuse for Sherlock to be late to the launch, holding everything about the historic day up. Everyone else was on board, all the supplies were in the cargo bay, but the man who had initiated the five year journey was nowhere to be seen. He paced the space in front of the viewscreen until Dr. Watson contacted the bridge and let the bridge crew know Sherlock was aboard. Lestrade sighed in relief and leftover frustration and moved to the captain’s chair, sitting down and flipping the ship-wide comm button.  
“Attention, crew!” he said clearly and firmly. “The Baker is about to engage on her five year mission into deep space. If anyone has any reservations about being aboard, you’re too late. Better get used to your cabin because we’ve got a long way to go. Lestrade out.” He settled back in his chair and looked to his helm officer, the always fierce looking Klingon, Ensign Kalitta T’lak.

“Impulse power.”

The officer nodded her head once, a grin on her face. Lestrade shook his head. Even a smile didn’t make her friendly. Ensign T’lak glanced at her fellow at the helm, Lieutenant Amkreth of Vulcan, the smile still plastered on her face, making him almost roll his eyes, before she engaged the engines and the Baker was pulling out of Starfleet’s spaceport in orbit above Earth. The ship barely made a sound as she was maneuvered into the coordinates for warp speed. At impulse drive, T’lak steered her forward, one finger always resting above the warp control. She was itching to get started, to see parts of the galaxy no one had seen before and possibly be apart of incredible battles and die honorably.

“Coordinates locked, Captain,” Amkreth said, his voice annoyingly calm. Lestrade couldn’t help the slight smile that appeared on his face as the moment they had all been awaiting arrived. At that moment Sherlock, John, and John’s wife Mary arrived on the bridge, wanting to see the ship enter warp speed. Lestrade looked up at the newcomers and glared at Sherlock. “You’re lucky we didn’t leave you behind,” he said gruffly. Commander Donovan, the Baker’s first officer, snickered, always glad to see Sherlock at the brunt of anyone’s irritability, or worse. Sherlock looked impassively at Lestrade and completely ignored Donovan. “Then you would have been demoted for embarking on a useless journey, as, without me, there would be no point to going.” John sighed and looked helplessly at the captain, whose glare had only increased to a scowl, when he suddenly broke into a smile. “I won’t let you ruin this moment, Holmes,” he stated and turned his head back to watch the viewscreen.

“Ensign T’lak… engage.”

“Yes, sir,” the ensign said, another grin on her face, and punched the button she’d been longing to push. The ship seemed to freeze for a split second and then suddenly the stars stretched and the ship flew forward, catapulted through space.

* * *

Dr. Molly Hooper sat in her lab, reading a book on the ancient culture of the Vulcan race. Only three hours before the Baker had started on her journey into the deep recesses of space. It would take approximately two months for the ship to reach the destination just outside the known quadrants of the galaxy, and entering a whole new one. Which is why Molly had brought plenty of books. She was excited, more excited than she’d ever been in her life about anything. Not only was she going to be apart of making amazing discoveries, but Sherlock Holmes, the man in charge, had hand picked her for the team. Just that he knew who she was had been an astounding occurrence. Molly was a good, even brilliant, anthropologist and scientist in her own right, but Sherlock Holmes was galaxy renowned, not only for his scientific achievements but also because he has solved some of the most perplexing mysteries. She smiled as her mind wandered to one such case. A Ferengi merchant had supposedly committed suicide in his own ship. There was no evidence anyone had transported aboard, and the Ferengi had been clear of any physical signs of a struggle. But Sherlock had somehow known that suicide wasn’t the answer to the puzzle. He and John Watson had discovered that if there had been no transport in or out at the time of death, there had been plenty while the security team was investigating. The murderer had been hiding aboard, waiting to sneak out with the rest of the team. Though Molly had never found out how exactly the murder had been done, it was indeed murder, and would never have been found out if Sherlock hadn’t been there.

Molly admired Sherlock. She had for a long while. They had been in the same class at Starfleet Academy, and even once had been lab partners for one of their classes. She had fallen for him the first day she saw him, and had never been able to get over him. Unfortunately, it seemed she was doomed to live with the feeling unreciprocated. She didn’t even know if they were friends. When they graduated Sherlock had gone off on his first mission with his new position as science ensign on the USS Sarek. It was more than a year before she saw him again, and he took up a position at Headquarters. They worked in the same department at Starfleet, and sometimes he entered her lab on the search for a particular fluid he needed for an experiment. A brief acknowledgement of her presence with the usurpation of the fluid was all that transpired, usually. Molly wasn’t even sure he really _saw_ her when he entered the room. Apparently, though, he considered her skills to be valuable enough to want her on his team. It caused a bloom of pride to rise up in her chest, along with apprehension in her gut. What if she didn’t live up to his standards? She had more than once been on the blunt end of his criticisms. Whenever he told her he wanted her help on an experiment, she always either did something wrong (though she knew perfectly well it was right) or he would simply say something cruel, most likely without realizing. She would disappear into the background and he would take over, completely forgetting about her until the next time he required her assistance. She always said yes. He could be so charming when he wanted, and because she was already in love with him, there was never a choice.

Molly Hooper would follow Sherlock anywhere. Including the end of the universe.

* * *

Stardate 2434.2: NCC Baker-W1221B, the Beta Quadrant

With the Alpha Quadrant now far behind them, the crew of the USS Baker begin to realize they are well and truly separated from Starfleet and the Federation, or any civilization that was familiar. Undiscovered territory about to be discovered, and all aboard were excited to be a part. All, that is, except for Sherlock, or he was able to keep his attitude hidden. Only two months into their journey and he already claimed to be bored. Even the Romulan head experiment he had brought along wasn’t keeping him occupied, causing Lestrade and John no end of headaches. Sherlock spent the time outside his own lab either with John, who could tolerate him more easily, or on the bridge, where Lestrade was quickly growing increasingly friendly to the idea of letting Commander Donovan shoot the scientist. It was on one such occasion of Sherlock being supremely annoying that the Baker came across her first planet.  
“Honestly, Captain,” Sherlock was saying, looking down his nose at the man in the captain’s chair. “I thought your mind was more disciplined than that. You can’t possibly think-”

“Captain Lestrade!” Amkreth announced. “Sensors have picked up a planet not five lightyears from our position. Shall I change course, sir?”

“Of course!” Sherlock barked, causing Lestrade to jump up and glower at him angrily. “My ship, Holmes,” he snapped, before turning to Amkreth. “Yes, Lieutenant, change course.” Amkreth bowed his head and immediately pressed the coordinates from the sensors into the navigation unit. Sherlock had usurped the science station, rudely pushing aside the ensign assigned there, who sighed and went to cover another station.  
“M-class, good oxygen, carbon counts. Livable. Shouldn’t need breathing equipment.” He muttered, mostly to himself. “Hmm, this could be interesting…”

“What?” Lestrade asked sharply, still irritated. Sherlock pulled away from the science station and strode to the lift. “Nothing,” he said, waving his hands airily, his face furrowed into a scowl. “Still too far away to be sure. Deck 10!” he ordered, and the lift doors closed on him. Lestrade heaved a sigh mixed with relief and frustration. He would have to have a talk with Watson about keeping Sherlock in check.

* * *

What Sherlock had seen picked up on the sensors was a sign of a civilization, possibly ancient. There didn’t seem to be any indication of any intelligent life, but that couldn’t be confirmed until the ship was in orbit around the planet. The lift stopped at Deck 10 and Sherlock moved quickly through the halls toward Dr. Hooper’s lab. If his interpretation of the sensor findings were correct, he would need her on the away team to the planet. He entered the lab and found the doctor seated behind her desk in her office, bowed over an old fashioned, spiral bound textbook on the ancient Earth culture of Greece.

“Dr. Hooper, we have adapted beyond the use of such menial items as physical books,” he said, an eyebrow raised. Molly gave a little squeak and jumped up from the chair, her eyes wide.

“Dr. Holmes!” she breathed, placing a hand to her heart. “You startled me.”

“It was not my intent. We’ve come across a planet and I believe we will find signs of an ancient culture there. You will be on the away team,” he stated, already turning back and leaving the room, in spite of the questions tumbling from Molly Hooper’s mouth. He was gone by the time she uttered the first word. Sherlock made his way back to the lift and commanded it take him to Deck 12, where the medical bay was located. John would be a necessity on this mission. It was mandated that any away teams were to have medical personnel, in addition to the fact that Sherlock needed him to be there, though the man would never admit it to his friend. John was helpful as a soundboard and even (every now and again) had some good ideas of his own.  
When Sherlock entered the med bay he found Dr. Watson in discussion with Mrs. Watson. It would have made no difference to Sherlock whether the good doctor was working on a patient or in the middle of a game of chess, Sherlock would interrupt anything if John was required. It wasn’t at all helpful, however, that Mary was sitting on her husband’s lap.

“An afternoon rendezvous, John?” Sherlock said smoothly, a hint of mockery in his tone. “I’m afraid not even your wife will be able to help you cope with the boredom.” He stopped in front of the desk, smiling a little too sweetly.

John smiled back. “Not even your mood swings will keep me from enjoying a little alone time with my bride, Sherlock.”

“Perhaps not,” Sherlock conceded. “However, I’m sure a new mission would.” He was gratified to see a change in John’s demeanor. His hold on Mary had slackened a little bit and his eyes had widened. Apparently the good doctor was just as bored as Sherlock had been.

“A mission?” John repeated. “What is it?” Mary laughed and stood up gracefully. “I’ll just go and see about selecting a security officer to go with you,” she said, smiling reassuringly at her husband as he passed her an apologetic look. “I’ll see you at the transporter, love.” She leaned over, and much to Sherlock’s chagrin, kissed John right on the mouth. It wasn’t that Sherlock really minded, but he would prefer it if the displays weren’t in front of him.

“Get your things together John, we’ll be planetside in approximately three hours.” With that Sherlock turned on his heel and left the medical bay, both Watson’s chortling.


	2. The First Impossible Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, Molly, John, Anderson, and one Ensign Jenkins are transported to the planet's surface where they discover a sinister mystery surrounding the ruins.

Stardate 2434.2: M-Class planet PX-10001, Beta Quadrant

When the away team - consisting of Sherlock, John, Molly, Anderson, and a security officer named Jenkins - materialized on the surface, all of them were struck by the scene before them. The planet wasn’t at all what the crew of the Baker had been expecting. It was green and lush, beautiful, almost a paradise. Which was shocking, because as far as the sensors could tell, there was no water on the planet at all. Sherlock, of course, was the most intrigued, and was determined they wouldn’t leave until they discovered why. They had coordinated their position near the ruins that he suspected, and confirmed begrudgingly by Lestrade. Molly was beyond excited. Their first mission and her skills as an anthropologist were already to be put to use. Immediately after rematerializing on the planet she had pulled her tricorder out and began to scan the area, searching for the area the ruins began. She walked to the east, Sherlock close behind her, his own tricorder out. He muttered to himself about the surroundings, musing about the lack of water and wondering how things were so green. She could hear the excitement in his tone and smiled. He was completely oblivious to anything and anyone else when he was like this, except maybe John, and he did his best work. She stopped abruptly as she came to the edge of the grassy hill she and Sherlock had been climbing. Below them, an expanse at least two thousand kilometers wide, opened up. There was no plant life, nothing green that could be seen at all, only sand and a sense of despair. The bland scene was peppered by ruined buildings, crumbling into nonexistence, some half covered in sand. Molly felt sad, realizing something terrible must have happened in order for this to be the only place nothing grew. Obviously a great people must have lived on the planet at some point, though it was difficult to tell how long ago it had been.

“I need to get a closer look,” she said, mostly to herself, completely taken by the scene before her. She started down the other side of the hill, slipping a little as the grass faded into desert. Sherlock’s hand automatically went out and grabbed her arm before she fell, though it disappeared almost immediately as soon as she was balanced again. She blushed but quickly focused on the task at hand. Gathering data. Behind her, John, Anderson, and Ensign Jenkins came up the hill, marveling at what they saw.

Sherlock was close beside her, eagerly moving forward toward the nearest building. He had already gathered some grass samples, and was now scooping up sand as he walked, planning on doing tests on why just this one location was barren. The other members of the away team, followed them, Jenkins doing a check-in with the bridge of the ship to inform them of the away team’s location.

John caught up with his friend and Molly, stopping beside them as the two stood before one of the great buildings, which were much larger up close than they had appeared on the hill. The mammoth buildings were built of an ivory white stone, smoothed out so no seams showed. It was almost as if they had been carved straight up out of the ground from the rock. Molly tentatively reached out and touched the wall of the building. The places that weren’t touched by time or some other destructive force, almost looked new.

“They’re beautiful,” Molly murmured reverently, and John nodded in agreement.

“I wonder what happened to the people here,” he said quietly. “It must have happened thousands of years ago.”

Sherlock backed up a few paces and narrowed his eyes at the place where the building was crumbling. “No,” he said slowly. “Not a thousand. Less than a hundred. Less than ten.” He knelt down and ran his hand along the foundation, brushing away sand. “Only a year.” John and Molly gawked at the man.

“How could you possibly know that!” John exclaimed as Molly joined Sherlock, peering at the foundation. She frowned and straightened up, going round the building to find the entrance. Sherlock looked up at John and scowled.

“It’s obvious,” he stated shortly. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t think that someone of your own limited expertise would be able to tell.” John glared at Sherlock and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Just tell me, you ass.”

Sherlock heaved a sigh and straightened to a standing position. “Once I get the sand to the lab and tested, it will conclude that this expanse of desert,” he gestured around them. “Had to have been formed in the last ten years. The rest of the planet is green, except for this one place, though at the edges you’ll notice that grass is beginning to spring up through the sand. But as there is no water under the ground, the only way it can grow is through rain. The scanners on the ship show that the atmosphere of this planet is rather volatile, so rain is scarce. I don’t think it’s a colloquialism to say that when it rains here, it pours.” He walked round the opposite side of the building as Molly had, keeping his eyes upward. John followed.

“So, because there is so little rain, and because of the sort of rain the planet gets, the sand here doesn’t get assimilated into the grassy part as quickly as on Earth?”

Sherlock nodded, “Precisely.”

John nodded slowly, staring at the ground as they walked. “Why do you keep looking up at the top?” he asked after a moment, realizing his friend was focused at the ruined zenith of the building. Sherlock stopped, his eyes once again narrowed. He tapped a few buttons on his tricorder and pointed it toward the building. The little machine beeps grew increasingly louder and he shut it with a decisive snap.

“This damage isn’t natural.” He stated. “The broken pieces have traces of damage similar to that of phasers.”

John took the tricorder from Sherlock and checked the readings himself. It was true. “How could phasers cause this much damage?” he exclaimed. “This place looks like its been through thousands of years of dilapidation, after a couple hundred earthquakes and droughts.” He looked back up at Sherlock and sighed in exasperation. The man had that stupid grin on his face that meant he was excited, that another mystery needed solving and Sherlock knew he was just the one who could. “Sherlock, there is no weapon powerful enough to cause this much damage in a typical battle.”

“Exactly!” Sherlock almost shouted in glee. “So who has created such a weapon and why? And how?”

“Sherlock! You can’t be excited that this quadrant has some sort of super weapon floating around!” John said firmly. “It’s not right.”

Sherlock shook his head, mentally brushing away John’s admonition as he made his way to the buildings half collapsed entrance. Molly’s tracks led inside, and her torch could be seen flashing across the walls.

“HELP!”

John and Sherlock immediately snapped to attention, and Molly gasped as she rushed back outside.  
“What’s happened?” Molly asked, her face pale. Another cry for help caused her to jump and she looked around. “Where’s Anderson and Jenkins?” she asked, suddenly realizing neither of them were present. Sherlock muttered under his breath that it would be Anderson in trouble and rushed off toward the noise, back up the grassy hill. John and Molly rushed after him and when they reached the peak, they ran down, Molly almost tripping again, only Sherlock managed to catch her before she rolled down the hill like a barrel. At the bottom, Anderson was leaning over Jenkins, attempting some form of resuscitation. John moved faster and reached the supine figure of the security officer first. Sherlock arrived next and pulled Anderson away so that John could work. Molly watched, her breath catching as John slowly stood up, his face grim and pale.

“He’s dead.”

* * *

Stardate 2434.2.1: The NCC Baker-W1221B, Beta Quadrant

Jenkins’ body was brought transported into sickbay once Lestrade was notified a casualty had been suffered. John went with the body so that he could begin the autopsy immediately. Molly, Sherlock, and Anderson were beamed aboard directly after and when they arrived aboard Sherlock headed for the medical bay, wanting to be there as John figured out the cause of death. Molly quietly made her way to her quarters as Anderson complained loudly to the transporter attendant about the experience. She hadn’t got very far before Sherlock was at her side and tugging her with him to the medical bay. “I do believe your skills are needed here, Doctor Hooper.” Was all he said, and, not wanting to argue, Molly followed, a slight (though she felt a little ashamed) smile on her face.

It wasn’t the first time she’d experienced death on a mission. It wasn’t the second or third either. Some would say she had obsession with death, in a way. She was a medical doctor and anthropologist, and before joining Starfleet had aspired to be a pathologist; she had even finished her degree. Those skills had helped in her endeavors at Starfleet and she finished at the head of her class, though just behind Sherlock. It was hard to compete with a mind like his. She was itching to exercise the things she’d carefully kept herself disciplined in, even though it was admittedly slightly morbid, considering the circumstances. When she saw the body she immediately went into her professional demeanor. It was as if she hadn’t been completely shocked to see him dead at all, as she was on the planet. She felt sorry for the poor young man, but her professional curiosity pushed those compassionate feelings to the side temporarily. John looked up as his friends entered, and nodded in greeting. Molly went straight to prep, pulling the gloves required for the operation on and then joining John at the body.

“Would you like to take the lead on this, Molly?” he asked, offering her the laser scalpel. She nodded and took it, but before cutting into Jenkins body, she looked him over.

“Computer, start recording autopsy findings,” she ordered and with a beep the recording began. Molly mused about what she found as John and Sherlock stood by, John ready to assist if need be, Sherlock there with his eyes closed and hands held steepled under his chin. Molly was lost in her work, able to ignore anything around her when there was a job to be done.  
“A cursory overview of the body shows signs of a severe case of dehydration,” she said, her professional voice clear and firm. “The skin is sunken into itself and has turned from its natural color to gray.” Jenkins’ eyes were closed, so she reached forward and lifted one lid, almost jumping back in surprise. “The… the eyes are… are deflated, with only the muscle tissue remaining.” She cut into the body at this point, forcing herself to avoid looking at the eye socket again. What she discovered upon a full examination of the organs and cavities, was that Ensign Jenkins had somehow been drained of all the water in his body.

Sherlock opened his eyes and moved closer, scowling down at the body. Molly looked between him and John.

“I don’t understand. He seemed in perfect health when we arrived at the planet, and now… now he looks as if he was mummified.” She shook her head. “This isn’t possible. We weren’t even down there for an hour!”

“We live in an age of space exploration beyond what human kind had ever dreamed only two hundred years ago,” Sherlock said, looking at Molly seriously. “Impossible is our legacy.”

Molly frowned. “Everything is pointing to a sudden loss of all the water in his body. In a very, very short period of time. This…” she gestured to the body. “Can’t be possible.”

“How short?” Sherlock asked.

“What?”

“How short a period of time?” he clarified.

Molly looked back down at the evidence before her and sighed. “About one to five minutes. I can’t even believe what I’m saying,” she laughed humorlessly. The entire thing was unlike anything she’d ever seen or experienced, even with all the occurrences in the Alpha Quadrant. Sherlock stared at the body for a few more minutes in silence, thinking.

“I need to talk to Anderson.” He stated abruptly, and then whirled on his heels and left sickbay. John looked helplessly at Molly and then followed after his friend. Molly stood at the examination table, looking sadly at poor Jenkins’ remains. “If anyone can find out what happened to you,” she murmured. “Sherlock can. I promise.” With that she went back to work, and when she was done with the autopsy had Mike Stamford, one of the other doctors on board, help her get Jenkins laid to rest and prepared for a Starfleet officer’s burial.

* * *

Anderson was with the captain and Donovan in the captain’s ready room, about ready to give his story of what had happened.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade exclaimed. “How nice of you to finally join us. Anderson was just about to tell us what happened.”

Sherlock ignored Lestrade and faced Anderson, scouring the other man with his eyes, deducing him. “He doesn’t know anything,” he said decidedly, about to sweep back out of the room, but stopped Lestrade jumping up.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that!” He stated. “And you, both of you,” he pointed John. “You’re witnesses as much as he is. I need both of you to tell me what went on down there.”

Sherlock sighed in exasperation and turned round to face Lestrade. “John, Dr. Hooper, and I saw nothing. We were investigating one of the ruins when we heard a cry for help, Anderson, presumably. We ran to the location and found Anderson weeping over the Ensign’s body.”

“I wasn’t weeping!” Anderson claimed indignantly. Sherlock snorted derisively and didn’t deign to reply, only looked over the chemist at Lestrade.

“After John concluded Ensign Jenkins was dead we contacted the ship and now here we all are.” Sherlock continued. “Captain, if you no longer require me to stay I do have tests to run and a murder to solve.”

Lestrade waved him on and shooed Sherlock away, shaking his head. “Yes, go, go! No, wait…” Sherlock sighed and glared at the captain. “What do you mean murder?”

“Ensign Jenkins’ was murdered,” Sherlock said slowly, as if Lestrade, simply by asking, was an idiot. Lestrade did indeed stare at him dumbfounded and Anderson turned a bright red as he stood up.

“You… You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with his death!” Anderson exclaimed furiously.

“Of course not!” Sherlock snapped. “You don’t have the intellect to conceive of a plan that would drain the man’s fluids in such a way.” Anderson scowled, unsure of how to take that, but sat down all the same.

Lestrade, now more confused than before, squinted at Sherlock. “If not Anderson, then who?”

“Well, I don’t know, Captain,” Sherlock said, looking wide at Lestrade, obviously mocking him. “Perhaps if you stop asking stupid and useless questions I might be able to find out.”

John sighed heavily. “Is there anything else you need from us, Captain?” he asked, stepping in. Lestrade pulled his scowling face away from Sherlock and shook his head curtly. “No. You can go. But I want regular reports on the investigation. Meaning every time you find something, no matter how insignificant, I get to know. Immediately.” Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but John put a hand on his friend’s arm and tugged him toward the door.

“Of course, Captain,” he said, nodding. “As soon as we find anything.”

Sherlock fixed a glare on John but didn’t say anything, allowing John to pull him out of the ready room. In the hall, he shook off John’s hand and straightened his shirt and sleeves. “Well, now that we have let the captain put such a ridiculous requirement as reporting on everything we do, I need to get back to the planet as soon as I set up my tests on the samples I took from the dirts.”

“Alright, but-”

“And we’ll need Dr. Hooper with us as well,” Sherlock continued. “Her expertise will be invaluable in deciphering what happened to the civilization.”

John sighed. “Fine, so let’s-”

“But not Anderson. He makes the grass seem intelligent.”

* * *

Stardate 2434.2.3: M-Class planet PX-10001, Beta Quadrant 

They returned to the planet two days later and Sherlock immediately went sniffing about the area where Jenkins’ body was found, John right next to him.The dirt and sand samples that Sherlock had taken on their first visit to the planet’s surface had confirmed to him what he had already deduced about the rains and lack of terrestrial water, though there had been one surprising outcome. The sand wasn’t actually sand. It was ash. Ash from from sentient lifeforms, as far as Sherlock could tell. It was only further proof of the power of whoever had destroyed the civilization. Dr. Hooper, while shocked when she found out, had taken it and used the information to further her look into the past of the planet. The ash was useful in figuring out the DNA structure of the peoples that used to live there, though more study of the ruins would be needed. She would focus on deciphering the riddle of the destroyed civilization while Sherlock figured out what had happened to Jenkins.

But Molly, while knowing she should go see about the ruins, was curious about Sherlock investigating the mysterious death, so she walked after John, looking on as Sherlock muttered to himself over “bent grass” and “no moisture” at or near the site of the murder. The new security officer stood off to the side, phaser in hand, alert for any sign of danger. Sherlock had his tricorder in hand, going over every blade of grass, every speck of dirt. “No moisture…” he kept muttering. “Not even in the air…” He was following a zig-zagging path over the ground, one that apparently only he saw. Molly had never seen him work like this, and found it fascinating. Not only was the man brilliant in the lab, but he obviously had a gift for investigation of a different sort.

He stopped at the edge of the sand where the grass ended and the ruins began. “It’s gone,” he scowled, whirling around. He walked in a large circle, twirling with his tricorder as it continued to take readings.

“What’s gone? Sherlock?” John looked at his friend expectantly, but patiently.

“The grass! The grass has residual moisture from the rain all around us except in this line from the place Jenkins’ died,” Sherlock explained, pointing back down the way they had walked. Molly and John followed his finger and realized the path. Molly had been so focused on watching Sherlock she had completely overlooked that the grass was brown, dead, where he had been walking.

“How is that possible!” she exclaimed, not having meant to speak aloud. Sherlock glared at her, which made her flush and quiet down.

“Well?” John snapped. “How is it possible?” he crossed his arms, losing his patience now. Sherlock sighed and shoved the tricorder at John, who looked at it, and scowled. “These readings don’t make any sense. It says that there’s not even any moisture in the air along the path. That’s… that’s impossible.”

“No, not impossible. John use your head or at least your eyes for once.” Sherlock said, pacing across the grass. “Something has sucked all the moisture from the air and the grass just as it did from Jenkins’ body. It’s the only possible explanation for any of this.”

John and Molly gaped. “But… the ship’s sensors…” she stammered. “They said there wasn’t any life here.”

“They were right, in a way.” Sherlock said, an excited note in his voice. “Whatever has done this is giving off similar signals as the flora. It wouldn’t register as the usual lifesign.”

Molly couldn’t help but smile as she watched him. He seemed so much like an excited little boy it was rather funny and sweet.

“It’s plant life,” Sherlock went on. “But it has the ability to suction the moisture, every bit of it, from anything it touches or passes through. Hence the brown grass and lack of water in the air on the path.”

“But the path disappears into the ruins…” John said, frowning. “How-”

“We follow the lack of moisture in the air.” Molly piped up. “We can still follow its trail because wherever it goes it takes the moisture from the air. The trail is still there, we just can’t see it.”

John nodded in understanding and Sherlock looked at Molly in surprise. “Yes. Exactly. My tricorder John.” He didn’t even bother waiting for the doctor to hand it to him, he just reached over and took it back, starting forward again into the ruins. Molly and John glanced at each other and followed after him, the security officer walking a few paces behind.

Sherlock held the tricorder in the air, staring at it and not where he was going. John more than once had to reach out and steady his friend from tripping over stones and fallen over pillars. Molly had given up any thought of investigating the ruins while on the chase of whatever creature had killed the crewman. It was far too exciting for her to focus on other things. Perhaps it was wrong to be excited over being involved in a murder case, but this was the first time in her life she was actually on the field. Most of her career had been spent in the lab or on archeological digs that were easy to decipher. Sometimes she found herself getting bored by the work she did. This experience on the Baker with Sherlock Holmes was the exact opposite.

Sherlock stopped suddenly and Molly was driven back into reality by bumping into John, who’d run into Sherlock. They were in front of a large, square entrance, pitch black inside. The frame of the entrance was a ruined pyramid half covered in sand. John moved to stand beside his friend, his eyes wide as he stared into the darkness.

“The trail continues inside,” Sherlock said as he lowered the tricorder. He was smiling, his eyes bright. John glanced at Sherlock and did a double-take.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “No. No. We are not going in there.” Sherlock turned to John with a scowl.

“We have to. It’s already been too long. We have no more time to lose if we hope to catch the creature.” Sherlock said. “You brought your phaser, and we have your wife’s assigned security officer with his own arsenal.”

John growled in frustration and pulled his phaser out of his jacket. “Fine. But if you get us killed, I will make sure you go first.”

* * *

The passage was darker than night, with no light whatsoever. Only Sherlock’s tricorder’s torch and their security’s torch gave any light. Molly was placed between John and the security officer, having no desire to stay outside and wait for them to return. John had tried to stop her but she steadfastly refused. It was safer, she argued, for them to stay together. When John had appealed to Sherlock, the man had simply shrugged and said it was her choice. John had sighed and given in, but demanded she stay behind him. She and Sherlock had rolled their eyes at that but Molly agreed. Now they were marching slowly through the blackness, all of them watching their steps. Sometimes when the light hit the wall they could see hieroglyphics depicting battles and marriages, funerals and victories. Molly wished she could record the stories, but Sherlock didn’t stop, so the rest had to move. She made note to come back with a full team to explore the ruins and record the hieroglyphs. They were the history of the people who had lived there, and Molly wouldn’t let them be forgotten.

None of them knew how long they had been walking when Sherlock finally stood still and rigid, the lights on the tricorder going in quick succession, alerting him that they were close to whatever they were seeking. He motioned John forward to his side and together they walked further in, the other two right behind. The torches lit the way into a room with high walls. Those walls led up hundreds of feet to the pointed ceiling of the pyramid, with a single beam of light from the outside entering the cavernous room from a circle set into the tip of the pyramid. The room was expansive, huge, though there was very little inside. A few broken pieces of furniture made from gold littered the room, but everything else had been incinerated. The floor couldn’t be seen from the ash and dust that covered it. Molly knew that most of the ash must be people, and the thought was sobering. Their security officer must have realized the same thing because he was very pale in the his torch’s light.

“There’s nothing here,” John whispered. Even that small noise made an echo and Molly shivered involuntarily at the eerie sound. Sherlock stood in the center of the room, the tiny circle of light before him. His eyes were narrowed as he scanned the room.

“It’s here,” he murmured. “It has to be. The trail ends here.” He pointed decisively to the floor, indicating they’d reached the end.

“Then it’s gone now. You were right, we were too late.” John moved forward a step toward his friend and suddenly stopped, his eyes wide as he stared past Sherlock toward the opposite corner of the room they’d entered. Sherlock immediately turned to face that side of the room as well and took a half step back in surprise at what he saw.

A shadow darker than the blackness in the tunnel moved along the wall with a soft, whispering sound. Tendrils moved across the stone like vines as it shifted toward the intruders. Sherlock took another step backwards even as John moved forwards. Molly stayed frozen in her spot nearest the entrance, the security officer stepping past her, his phaser in his shaking hand. For the first time in real danger, Molly realized; first mission where he might not come back.

The creature moved closer to Sherlock and John, practically slithering across the floor. It’s tendril-like limbs spreading over the floor to lift its main body in the air. Everyone’s eyes rose to meet its height, about three meters tall. For a few moments there was absolute silence except for the rapid breathing of everyone in the room.

Sherlock still had his tricorder recording data and now he looked at it, briefly flicking his eyes to the lights and data whirring across the screen. He smiled and looked back at the creature. “John,” he whispered. “Is your phaser on stun?” John glanced at Sherlock with wide eyes and nodded.

“Then shoot it.”

John immediately obeyed. The phaser’s bolt hit the dark thing in front of them and it screamed in rage before charging at the two men.

“I THOUGHT IT WAS SUPPOSED TO GO DOWN!” John shouted, running with Sherlock back to the tunnel.

“There’s always something!” Sherlock yelled in disgust. Molly and the security officer were right behind John and Sherlock as the creature chased them. Despite the hall being dark as ever, the away team found there was very little resistance and it was a straight path back to the sandy ruins, though the creature was only feet behind them. Sherlock and John broke into outside first, both whirling around on the entrance to the tunnel, John’s phaser now set to kill.

Nothing else came out.

“Wait,” John gasped for breath. “Where’s Dr. Hooper? The… the crewman?”

“Still inside,” Sherlock said grimly. “It’s a pity. I would have preferred not to kill the creature; more opportunity for study, but I see now we have no choice.”

“We have to go back in after them!” John exclaimed, running forward just as Molly came rushing out. He was knocked on his back, Molly falling on her knees beside him. The crewman ran out just after her.

“It’s right behind me!” she hissed, scrambling to her feet and backing away from the pyramid entrance with the others.

With another great, challenging roar the creature erupted out of the pyramid landing on four of its ‘legs’, which were more like thick vines. It stalked slowly toward the away team, the black tendrils slithering out of its body whipping toward the away team viciously. Before anyone had the opportunity to shoot the thing, one of the tendrils wrapped around the leg of the security crewman, and with a scream he was dragged away from the group.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, Molly screaming the poor man’s name, John shooting the dark thing that had ripped him away, and the black, viney mass falling to the ground with another hoarse cry, this time of pain. It was dead, and with its death the crewman was released from its vice-like grip, though he was already drained of the liquids in his body. Sherlock and John rushed forward, though Sherlock warned the doctor not to touch the dead monster with his bare hands. “The ability may not be as quickly put down,” he explained.

After confirming both the creature and the crewman were dead, John alerted the ship and the bodies and the remaining members of the away team were beamed back aboard the Baker. Sherlock insisted on keeping the body of the creature for further study, in spite of Lestrade’s reluctance. Molly once again handled the body of the dead crewman. Pole. Ensign Pole.

Two crewman dead in the course of their first week in the Beta Quadrant. What more would this mission bring?

* * *

The funerals for Ensign Jenkins and Ensign Pole were performed three days later. They were given proper Starfleet farewells, and their bodies were consigned to space. It was a properly sober affair, with few tears, but plenty of grief for the crew’s lost members. Nearly the entire crew was given the day off after the funerals, to reflect and remember. They had been young, both of them, but brave, as Captain Lestrade pointed out reverently during the service. They deserved some time to be remembered.

Only God knew how many more times they would have to perform the funeral rites in the years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you to TheUnemployedPhilosopher for editing and helping me keep things straight!


	3. The Traveler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Baker comes across a derelict ship floating through space. Sherlock takes an away team to investigate and they find the crew of the ship disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

Stardate 2434.2.9: Unknown Space, Beta Quadrant

 

For another week and a half they stayed in orbit around the planet, which Molly had dubbed Thebes (in honor of the ancient Earth city). They gathered more data than she had thought possible about the civilization that had once thrived there, and it would be weeks more before she could decipher and study it all. Sherlock was busy with the body of the creature to bother with anything else that was going on. He had something to occupy his mind now. He did call on Molly every now and then for assistance but it was for very brief moments of time and when he had gotten the information he needed she was dismissed. John was with Sherlock for the most part, unless someone called for him in the medbay. Those situations irritated him to no end, because the other medbay doctors, like Dr. Mike Stamford, were perfectly capable of handling the hangnails and colds that popped up every now and again on the ship. John suspected most of them just wanted information on Sherlock, which was irritating but he tolerated it because being a doctor came first, no matter the circumstances his patients came to him.

 

It was on such a dreary morning for John that the Baker went into Yellow Alert. The patient had been asking him all sorts of questions about working with Sherlock when the ships internal alert lighting went to yellow. Lestrade’s voice came over the comm.

 

“Crew. We’ve encountered a distress signal in a nearby system. We’re changing course to intercept, all crew should return to their stations. Captain out.”

With the end of Lestrade’s message the crewman hopped off the examination table and hurried out of the room. John grunted and rolled his eyes. Apparently the man’s foot wasn’t hurting that badly after all.

* * *

On the bridge Sherlock was already being a nuisance at the science station, and to Lieutenant Commander Donovan’s annoyance, Lestrade was letting him. Sherlock had popped onto the bridge only moments after Lestrade had turned off the ship wide communication, and had proceeded to displace the usual science officer (again) and mutter to himself about the implications of a drifting ship in the system. The Baker was now in sight of the derelict vessel, which eerily floated across the view screen.

“The star in the system is a red dwarf… no, oh… interesting. It’s a binary system, to red dwarfs orbiting each other. All planets seem to be devoid of life, though the largest one’s ionosphere is heavy with gaseous uranium. Very unique. Quite possibly the ship is a mining vessel. It could be this form of uranium, alien to our own quadrant, is what the indigenous here in the Beta Quadrant use for fuel.”

“Is that all, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, having watched the man through the entirety of the speech. Sherlock turned round as if he had just noticed where he was; he scowled immediately.

“No. There doesn’t seem to be any life signs aboard the ship, but the ship has lead shielding, which could be confusing our sensors.” He said flatly.  
Lestrade frowned. “Lieutenant Jollop,” he turned to his communications officer. “Try contacting the ship. Open all channels.” The Deltan nodded her head and turned to her station, sending off signals to the derelict ship. After a few minutes she turned back around, her face frowning. “There is no response, Captain.” Lestrade scowled and looked at the view screen, trying to decide what to do. It wasn’t a minute later that Sherlock was at his side.

“I propose we send an away team to the ship, Captain,” he said innocently. “To be sure we’ve done everything we can and that there are indeed no survivors.”  
Lestrade glared at him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, yes, and do you want to lead it, Sherlock?” He snapped. The scientist raised his brows in surprise.

“If you wish me to, Captain, of course I will,” he said and smiled before whirling around and walking to the lift. As he stepped onto it and turned around his face was serious. “I’ll need John, of course,” he said. “Any other personnel you can choose. Deck Twelve.” With his last words the door slid closed and the lift departed the bridge, leaving Lestrade glaring after it.

* * *

Since the ship was encased in a lead-like substance, it was impossible for the Baker’s sensors to find a place to transport the away team over; instead, they used one of the Baker’s shuttles. The away team consisted of Sherlock, John (with no little protest), two security officers - Lt. Lee and Ensign Vedoe - and Anderson. Sherlock wasn’t at all happy about bringing Anderson, but John pointed out that if the ship really was a mining vessel they’d need Anderson to figure what to do with the gaseous uranium. Sherlock gave in, but reluctantly. He was far too intrigued with the mystery of the mysterious ship to really care who was on the away team. As long as the chemist didn’t get in the way or say something idiotic, everything would be fine.

As it happened, Anderson wouldn’t shut up the entire twenty minutes it took to get to the dead, floating ship. Sherlock was on the brink of breaking and explaining to Anderson exactly what everyone on the ship thought of him when they finally docked with the derelict ship. John sighed in relief. He had barely managed to keep from yelling at Anderson to shut up. Not knowing whether there was any artificial gravity or oxygen aboard the ship, everyone had to dress in specialized suits that would allow them to walk and breathe once they exited the shuttle and entered the other ship. John was struck by how silly everyone looked in their fish-bowl helmets and chuckled, eliciting a confused brow raise from Sherlock. The doctor shook his head and urged his friend forward. Sherlock rolled his eyes and eagerly went to the exit, quickly dismissing – a normal occurrence with John – his friend’s odd mood swings. Sherlock had long given up trying to explain them.

“Everyone needs to be careful,” the lead security officer, Lieutenant Lee, was telling everyone before he opened the shuttle door. “Keep your comms on and stay with the group.” Sherlock was practically bouncing, impatient to get going. There was something about this ship, and he needed to figure it out, or it would drive him insane. Finally Lee put his own helmet on and nodded his head, before releasing door. They had docked in the ghost ship’s shuttle bay and were now faced with almost complete darkness, only the Baker’s shuttle and the automatic lights on their suits casting any illumination. Lt. Lee went first, stepping carefully out of the shuttle, his tricorder out and recording data. Sherlock went next, everyone else filed after him.  
Sherlock swung his tricorder every which way, eyes scouring the data it was recording. It was a good thing they had taken the precaution of the suits, because there was no life-support on the shuttle bay, although the artificial gravity was activated.  
John was beside him, staring at his own tricorder. “I’m not reading any life signs,” he said. “Is anyone else?” There was a unanimous head shake and John sighed. “So everyone died. What a pity,” he said regretfully.

“Really John, it’s not like this crew were close personal friends of yours,” Sherlock remarked. “And there is nothing to prove they hadn’t managed to get off the ship before whatever disaster caused it to be abandoned.”

John rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing to prove they did either,” he said sourly.

“Not feeling very optimistic today, are we John?” Sherlock quipped cheerfully, earning an irritated glare from the doctor.

“Doctor Holmes!” Lt. Lee called. “Over here!” He had made his way over to the shuttle bay doors. Sherlock and John hurried over. Anderson and the other security officers were already beside Lt. Lee, peering at the heavy, metal doors. “The door is magnetically sealed,” Lee was saying, leaning over the door’s control panel. “But I think we could get it open.” Sherlock pushed him aside and knelt down as best he could in his encumbering suit. He examined the control panel, his eyes examining every inch of it, reading everything it said as he pressed various buttons. It didn’t take him five minutes to figure out which sequence to push for the doors to open. They groaned as they slowly slid open, a clue as to how long the ship had been deserted. It wasn’t anything Sherlock hadn’t already deduced. What he hadn’t expected was the loud and lonely howl that seemed to come from deep inside the ship, startling everyone.  
“What the hell was that?” Anderson exclaimed, paling paper-white. Everyone else remained silent, none exactly sure what they had heard. Even Sherlock was perturbed, though only John could tell. The scientist narrowed his eyes, and they seemed so bright and excited it was as if Christmas had arrived early and he was an eager little boy.

“Anderson, shut up.” He said and stepped through the doorway, to Lt. Lee’s protests. John followed quickly after Sherlock and soon everyone had gone through the doorway and entered the interior of the ship, thought it was obvious no one else was as excited about it as Sherlock. It was dark, and various pieces of flotsam and jetsam floated around the intruders’ heads at the lack of artificial gravity. John tensed every time they turned a corner, half expecting to see a body suspended with the broken fixtures of the vessel. He wasn’t scared that much, but the entire aura of the situation was eerie and he, for one, couldn’t wait to get back to the Baker. He could tell Sherlock, though, was less apprehensive. The man seemed very much to be enjoying the trip through the ghostly star ship.

Sherlock kept his steps steady as he lead the group through the corridors of the ship. He actually ignored the others for the most part, except for John. Nothing and no one else mattered when he had a mystery like this ship in front of him. Questions and deductions whirled through his brain as he made his way toward where he supposed the ship’s bridge was according to the map he’d found in the control panel at the shuttle bay. Why had the ship been left like this? Not by choice, certainly. The crew had either abandoned it, or… there was no other option, really. There weren’t any bodies and space was an excellent preservation mechanism, so if there had been anything on board, they would have surely come across it.

Each room he passed with an open door he searched cursorily with his eyes. Most of the rooms in the corridor they were in were open, the doors either broken open or only half shut. Some of them looked like they’d been forced open. Sherlock stopped at one of these, running his gloved hands gingerly along the edges of the double sliding doors. The metal was bent outwards, as if something had managed to get a grip and forcibly pull them back. The corridor was as destroyed as the rest of the ship seemed to be, with exposed wires and conduits in the walls, and pieces of the wall floating lazily all around them. Points of the ceiling, the walls, and doors had plasma burns on them.  
“Something bad went down here,” Lt. Lee muttered. “These burns are pretty high grade. They’re from weapons.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Sherlock agreed. “And it seems whatever the crew was firing at, it was quite dexterous and agile. And, apparently, able to walk on the ceiling,” he was smiling as he pointed up. The plasma burns on the walls lead up the ceiling in a long line until ending abruptly right above Lt. Lee’s head. Anderson swallowed audibly and took a few steps back. “I think I’m going back to the shuttle,” he said, his voice abnormally high. “S-someone should be there. Just in case.”

“First intelligent thing you’ve said all day, Anderson,” Sherlock said pleasantly. Lt. Lee glared at Sherlock and turned to the chemist.

“It would be best if we stuck together, Dr. Anderson.” He told him. “We don’t know what’s going on here.” Anderson shook his head and kept backing up in the direction the group had come.

“No, I’ll be alright. Really, I think it’s best I get back to the shuttle. I-I can let the Baker know what’s going on…”

“We can do that from here, Anderson,” John pointed out, much to the chemist’s chagrin. “We’ve got comms.”

“Speaking of,” Lee remarked. “It’s almost time for our check-in with the Baker.” He pressed a button on his suit and spoke clearly. “Lieutenant Lee here, Baker, come in.”

Almost immediately Lestrade’s voice came back to them. “Reading you, Lieutenant. What’s your report?” Lee explained what they had found aboard and told the captain about the battle in the hallway. Consternation was evident in Lestrade’s voice when he replied.

“Do you think that whatever happened to that crew, whatever thing was there, is still around?”

“Hardly likely, Captain, unless the thing doesn’t breathe oxygen of any kind,” Sherlock scoffed.  
“I didn’t ask you, Sherlock!” The captain exclaimed irritably.

“Captain,” Anderson timidly spoke up. “I was just suggesting to the group that perhaps I ought to go back to the Baker’s shuttle. I could keep an eye on things there…”

“Fine,” Lestrade said. “But Vedoe,” the other security officer on the team suddenly stood to attention.

“Yes, captain?”

“Go with Anderson. When you get back to the shuttle send all the information gathered so far back to the Baker. I’ll have the analysts here look at it and see if we can find any answers on our end. Everyone keep your eyes and ears open. I don’t like this. Lestrade out.”  
Lee sighed and turned to the young ensign at his side. “You heard the captain, Vedoe. You’d better start back now. Keep the engine running for us.”  
Vedoe nodded at his superior, but looked dubiously at Anderson, rather disappointed he had to go back to the shuttle. He would miss all the excitement. Sherlock, on the other hand, was absolutely delighted.

“Off you go, Anderson!” he said cheerfully, almost smiling. “We wouldn’t want you to miss your date with the Baker’s analysts.” Anderson gave Sherlock a withering glare and turned, stalking his way back down the corridor, a disgruntled Vedoe beside him.

* * *

It took the remaining members of the away team still exploring the ship half an hour to reach the bridge. Many detours had to be taken because the main route was pocked with fallen debris that blocked their way. Anderson and Vedoe managed to reach the shuttle bay and the Baker’s shuttle long before Sherlock, Lee, and John reached the bridge, irking Sherlock slightly. Always competitive, John thought to himself in exasperation.

Lee contacted the shuttle when Sherlock, John, and he reached the bridge. “Vedoe, Lee here. We’re just checking in. How’s everything down there?” He let the comm go and waited for Vedoe to respond.

“Everything’s… fine, sir.” Vedoe answered almost immediately. His tone held hesitance and relief. “Uh, Dr. Anderson wants to know when we’re going back to the Baker… he’s, um, he’s kind of jumpy at the moment.”

“I am not jumpy!” Anderson’s voice came faintly over the comm. Vedoe cleared his throat awkwardly. “No, sir, of course not.” He placated. “Lt. Lee, please, hurry up,” he added, whispering desperately. Lee held in a chuckle.

“We’ll be back as soon as… well, as soon as Dr. Holmes does his thing.” Lee replied, glancing at Sherlock and John. While Lt. Lee had been talking with Ensign Vedoe, Sherlock had started to look around the bridge consoles. He sought any sign that power was still within the vessel and almost cried Eureka when one of the consoles lit up like Christmas. He started to press all the buttons in different sequences, figuring what lead where.

“Ah,” he said quietly. “Lieutenant, I do believe I found the captain’s log.” Lee and John immediately joined Sherlock at the console and peered over his shoulder as a very fuzzy, static filled video of an older, grayish faced bald alien, rather akin to a Cardassian, only with a few more head ridges. It spoke with a lighter voice, a female of whatever specie commanded the ship. Sherlock played the log three times in order for the universal translator on the away team’s comms to translate the language there. It wasn’t perfect, but it seemed to be enough for the team to understand what was said.

“Captain Jakesh of the mining vessel Traveler, final entry,” the woman looked sad and tired; the background – the bridge on which Sherlock and the others now stood - on was dark except for the lights from the console that played on the captain’s face.

_“The events of the past three days… we’ve lost so many… I sent out a distress call, though I don’t think any ship will reach us in time, even if the call managed to get through the interference from the suns…”_ The captain shook her head sadly then looked squarely at the camera. _“I want it on record that what has transpired here was entirely on my shoulders. My responsibility. I failed my duties. I failed this crew. I killed us all.”_  
The log ended abruptly and silence enveloped the room. John finally broke it by clearing his throat, though even that simple noise seemed to be too loud.

“What happened here,” he wondered, unconsciously whispering. “Must have been awful… they had to have been attacked.”

“Yes, attacked, but not by another ship,” Sherlock mused, not under the same spell as John and Lee. “Something else… I need to find the other logs.” He started scrolling through the computer, now oblivious to anything but the task before him. Lee and John shared an anxious look, neither of them comfortable any longer in the ghostly ship.

“Lt. Lee,” Ensign Vedoe came over the comm in a desperate whisper. “Lieutenant!”  
Lee scowled. “Ensign, now is not the time to compla-”

“There’s something on board! It’s outside the shuttle.” The fear was palpable in the young ensign’s voice. Sherlock immediately stopped working and took over the comms.

“Ensign, what do you hear? What do you see?” he snapped.

“We’re inside the shuttle. We can’t see anything,” Vedoe replied. “Anderson tried to start the shuttle up. I had to stop him, so I stunned him with my phaser. I couldn’t let him take the shuttle back to the Baker… he wanted to abandon all of you.” Vedoe rambled on.

“Ensign,” Lee snapped. “Calm down. That’s an order. Tell us what you hear.”

Vedoe took a deep breath before answering. “It’s so soft,” he whispered. “You wouldn’t know… except that I can hear it breathing… How can it breathe, sir? There’s no oxygen out there!”

Sherlock looked absolutely delighted with this piece of information and started tapping madly at his tricorder, mumbling to himself about the possible answers to the enigma. John shook his head. “That’s impossible.” He stated. “Impossible.”

“Vedoe-” Lee stopped as over the comm came the same, eerie, frightening moaning cry the away team had heard earlier. Even Sherlock was startled into motionlessness with John and Lt. Lee.

“Lieutenant!” Vedoe exclaimed in terror. “It’s… it’s just outside the door…” A screeching sound came over the comm next, metal being torn from metal. “It’s going to get in!” The comm suddenly went dead. It wasn’t off, but there was no noise, not even static. It was as if Vedoe and the shuttle had been sucked into a vacuum.

“Ensign!” Lee cried. “Vedoe?” Still no answer. John had gotten his phaser out during Vedoe’s last communication, and Sherlock noticed it was on the ‘kill’ setting.

“We have to get down there.” John said firmly, making his way toward the doorway they’d entered the bridge with Lee right behind him. Sherlock shook his head. “No use,” he stated. “They’re gone.”

John stopped and looked at Sherlock angrily. “They are members of our team, Sherlock,” he snapped. “They need our help.”

“It would serve our purposes more if we stayed here and discovered the rest of the crew’s logs,” Sherlock retorted. “Finding out what happened to the crew of this ship will help us in rescuing Ensign Vedoe and Anderson.”

“I am not going to let the ensign or Dr. Anderson die while we whittle away on these dead computers,” Lee said adamantly, continuing on his way to the doorway. “They’re my responsibility.”

“Then you and Doctor Watson should go down there,” Sherlock said tightly. “I will remain here and continue sifting through the logs.” John scowled at this and shook his head.

“It’s not a good idea to separate, Sherlock,” he said warily. “Safety in numbers. We don’t know what’s going on here.”

Sherlock gave John a bored look. “I know the risks, John. I have assessed the bridge. There is only one entrance, one way out. This console is facing that doorway. I will be able to detect anything that approaches it and act accordingly if there is indeed a threat. And you know I happen to be a very good shot.” He smiled that irritating smile that was so narcissistic it frustrated John to no end.

“Fine,” he snapped. “We’ll contact you when we get to the shuttle.” He stalked over and joined Lee.

“Yes, you do that,” Sherlock murmured, going back to the console. Almost as soon as Lee and John had disappeared through the entrance Sherlock discovered another, earlier log the captain had made.

“Captain Jakesh, supplemental log. We’ve discovered a planet that has the gaseous uranium we seek. It’s an opportune discovery, certainly. Our fuel is running low and this planet has more than enough to supply us for years to come. Not only that, but it’s previously undiscovered. We’ll be the only ones to know of its existence. We’ll be able to sell the uranium and not worry about competitors.” The log stopped at this point, the rest of it corrupted.

“Quite pleased, weren’t you,” Sherlock murmured. “Not for long, I think.” He went through more of the computer’s hard drive and smiled upon finding another log.

_“Captain Jakesh, official log of the Horonian Star Vessel Traveler. The uranium is now aboard ship, safely contained in the hulls below the shuttle bay. However, something odd happened as we were sieving it into the containers. A… a thing, supposedly, was spotted. The officer who saw it claimed it ‘slithered’ into the hull. I say he’s spent too much time working and too little on the recreation deck. But we’re looking into the incident, just in case.”_

“Ah, that explains how it can breathe,” Sherlock muttered, his eyes gleaming. “It’s a uranium based life. Very interesting. There is still uranium inside the hulls of this ship, probably seeping out through cracks, which is why whatever terrorized this place is able to remain alive.” He was suddenly very thankful for his suit. The outfit was state-of-the-art protection against any radioactive materials below a certain temperature. No one would have to worry about dying from radiation poisoning.

“Sherlock, everything alright up there?” John’s voice came over the comm, startling Sherlock out of his thoughts.

“Yes, John,” Sherlock sighed. “Everything is quiet. I found some things out about…” A soft hiss came over the comm and Sherlock scowled. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That hiss.”

“Hiss?”

“Stop repeating what I say and answer the damn question!” Sherlock snapped. “Did you hiss?”

“I didn’t hiss!” John exclaimed, his voice betraying he thought Sherlock was insane. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Are either of you alright?” Lee cut in.

“Shut up. John, obviously you caught something on the comm. Now, pay attention to what’s around you. Where are you?”

John took a moment to reply. Sherlock could tell he was looking around. “We’re about half way to the shuttle. At that place we say all the phaser shots.”

“Good, good. Are the lights on your suits on?”

Lee answered this time. “Yes, of course they are. What’s going on Dr. Holmes?”

“I don’t know if there’s time to explain everything,” Sherlock said, scowling. Now he wished he had gone with John and Lt. Lee. “I believe the creature that attacked this ship; that attacked Ensign Vedoe and Anderson, breathes the uranium from the planet nearby. That’s how it’s able to survive on board the ship. It’s living in the gas containers under the shuttle bay.”

“So we just need…” the screeching, howling noise returned and Sherlock felt himself go cold. It sounded like it was right next to John.

“John.” He said quietly. Once again there was silence, a repeat of what had occurred with Vedoe. “Lieutenant Lee?” Silence. For the first time since they had boarded the mining ship Sherlock experienced the feelings of fear his team mates had. For all he knew everyone was dead. Lt. Lee, Vedoe, Anderson. John.

“No.” He said aloud. “No jumping to conclusions. Need more data,” he went back to the console furiously sifted through more of the logs. He finally found one he thought might help and brought it up.

_“Captain Jakesh, HSV Traveler. It’s been three days and we still haven’t found a way to get to the missing crew. At least five of them are gone, perhaps more. It’s hard to tell with all the damage the kotech has caused.”_ She spat the last words, causing Sherlock to deduce it must have been a curse of some sort. _“We know they’re still alive, though. The computer can still detect their life signs, though we can’t get to them. I don’t know if we’ll make it in time though… the uranium must already be taking a toll on their bodies.”_

Sherlock felt a spark of hope light up in his chest and some sort of weight lifted from his shoulders. They were alive. The creature apparently didn’t kill its victims immediately. From what the captain said the people whatever-it-was abducted were taken to the uranium containers below the shuttle bay. He had to get down there.  
He downloaded the rest of the logs onto his tricorder and took out his phaser, deciding to leave it on the stun setting. If possible, he wanted to capture the thing. A repeat of what happened on PX-1001 was not desirable. He didn’t want to kill another life form if he could help it. He decide to contact the Baker before starting for the containers. He might not return and they needed to know what had transpired.

“I’m going to send another team over there, Sherlock,” Lestrade stated. Sherlock growled in frustration.

“Captain, this thing managed to take apart an entire ship and has already taken four of the members of the away team. I don’t believe an entire force would be able to counter its moves. A new tactic is needed.” Lestrade protested but Sherlock cut him off by telling him it would take too long anyway. John and the others might be dead by the time reinforcements arrived. That did make an impact and Lestrade reluctantly agreed to Sherlock’s plan.

“I am sending over the logs of the captain of this vessel. If I do not contact you within a half an hour, feel free to blow the Traveler apart.” Sherlock informed him.

“Sherlock. Good luck.” Lestrade said sincerely.

“Thank you, Captain,” Sherlock responded soberly. “I do believe I shall need it.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Sherlock, traveling alone, to get to the containers in the bowels of the ship. The way was clear of any large debris, due most probably to the creature needing a free path to and from its home. Sherlock admired the thing, as he did with all intelligent creatures. It was a pity there was the possibility he would have to harm it, though he would try his best to avoid that outcome. He hoped perhaps, depending on the size and temperament, he might be able to bring it aboard the Baker and study it further. He ducked under a tangle of wires and thought wryly about what Lestrade would say to his wishes. The captain would look at him as if Sherlock were insane and ignore the request. Then Sherlock would bring the creature aboard anyway and get thrown in the brig for disobeying orders. John would laugh uproariously at the sight of Sherlock behind the force field of one of the cells. If they all made it out alive. He shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. He knew the possibilities of any of them surviving this might be low, but if there was anything John had taught him, it was to never give up trying, even under impossible odds.

“Bloody undying optimism,” Sherlock muttered to himself. When he reached the entrance to the room holding the containers he started to feel doubts about being able to handle this alone. The room was massive. The ship appeared deceptively small compared to the size of the room and containers before him. The room was inundated with a thin, filmy smoke. The gas-form uranium, as his tricorder insistently informed him, the radioactivity detector going off. He shut the thing down immediately and looked around, his head snapping to and fro, looking for any sign of movement. The noise would surely have alerted whatever occupied the space, unless it was deaf, which Sherlock highly doubted. Nothing moved, though, and he cautiously made his way toward one of the containers, which had a large, gaping hole in its side from which the uranium was issuing. He looked inside and nearly dropped his phaser. Bodies hung from the sides - secured by strange, web-like ropes - beings that looked to be the same specie as the captain.  
“Well, that explains why we didn’t find any bodies in the halls,” he said quietly. The thing had taken them all, the entire crew, and had hung them inside the uranium containers, killing them and preserving them. He spotted the captain and couldn’t stop the shiver that went down his spine. It was a most eerie and frightening sight, seeing the woman on the video, so alive before, now hanging below one of her crew members, her face sunken and white, her eyes wide open, a terrible reminder of the terror she had experienced.  
He turned away, forcing himself to focus on finding the away team. They weren’t in the container he’d just visited, so they must be in another. There were twenty in all, ten of which had holes in them. He checked them all, and finally, the third to last, found the team. They were hung up like the crew of the Traveler, but all were breathing. Their suits were still on, mercifully, and Sherlock immediately set to work trying to get them down. He found the web ropes were surprisingly durable and had to resort to severing them with his phaser. He released John first, who was fortunately close enough to the ground that Sherlock simply had to steady his unconscious form as it hit the ground. He slapped John’s face a few times, trying to get him to wake up, but the man seemed to be paralyzed, his eyes wide open just as the Traveler’s crew.

“Of course now your nerves are the steadiest, when I don’t need them to be,” Sherlock spat in exasperation. He looked at the three others who were still hanging on the walls and rolled his eyes, standing up. “Very well, who’s next? Ah, Lieutenant Lee, perhaps you’ll be easier to wake.” He shot down Lee and he again attempted to wake him, but to no avail. He got Vedoe down, but success still avoided him. “Must be some sort of venom; or you’re being lazy,” he muttered to his unconscious team. He heard the softest noise behind him just then and lifted his head slowly. His hand gripped the handle of his phaser tightly and he slowly turned around. He was surprised by the appearance of the thing that stood before him in the hole of the container. It was so… human.

It stood on two legs, its height equivalent to Sherlock’s, with hands and feet that were webbed. Still, the humanoid form was unmistakable. Its head was round, but its eyes were large and a dusky brown color that glittered in the low light. Its body was a blue-ish gray, smooth, with only a few scars to show previous injuries. It peered at him, blinking, its head tilted slightly to the right. Sherlock stayed very still, his eyes the only movement on his body. He looked over the thing, figuring it out. It wasn’t angry, he deduced, but definitely curious. It seemed to be mulling over him just as he was deducing it. Sherlock felt it might be intelligent, so, he did what John would certainly consider an insane thing.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes,” he said slowly. He kept his voice calm, not wanting to make the creature believe he was afraid or hostile. The thing’s head straightened up at it looked at Sherlock, its pupils turning to slits. It hissed, the same noise Sherlock heard before John was taken, and the man barely had time to duck before the thing spit its paralytic venom at him. He cursed under his breath and shifted to the other side of the container. His suit didn’t allow for much more maneuvering than that. He swung back to face the creature, ready to shoot it with his phaser, but it was no longer in the doorway. He heard a barely audible suction noise above his head and looked up. There it was, hissing down at him from the top of the container.

“Siiiiillleence,” it whispered and Sherlock’s eyes widened. He felt a sense of pride in realizing he had been right. The creature was intelligent. It had simply taken the universal translator more time than usual to understand the guttural noises and the hisses. “Sssso much sssiillence.” It edged its way closer to the center of the container, pressing against the wall.

“The ship?” Sherlock queried. “The ship is silent?” The thing stopped abruptly and peered at him, blinking for a moment.

“The ssship.” It said in confirmation. It moved closer still, but Sherlock no longer got the impression it wanted to hurt him. “Ssseend me home.”

Sherlock nodded. “The planet. The gaseous planet is your home. I can take you there.” It dropped down in front of him, face to face now. It blinked three times before backing away again.

“Ssseend me home.” It repeated and disappeared into the darkness of the outer room. Sherlock understood and moved quickly. He let the Baker know he had found the rest of the away team and that the danger was over. When he was pressed by Lestrade for more information he cut off the comms and began to attempt to wake the others in earnest. Finally, after Sherlock injected him with an anti-venom he wasn’t even sure would work, John sputtered and sat bolt upright.

“Sherlock!” he cried. “It’s behind- where am I?” he asked, frowning as he looked around. He spotted the others and his eyes widened. “Ah. So, this is what it does…” Sherlock nodded.

“Indeed, John. I’m glad to see your mind has not suffered from its venom. Help me get Lieutenant Lee and Ensign Vedoe to the shuttle. It’s not far. Then I have a promise to keep.” He lifted the Lieutenant onto his shoulders and John lifted Vedoe up. The ensign was already waking and was able to stand. They began to move forward when John stopped.

“Uh, Sherlock. What about Anderson?”

Sherlock stopped and sighed heavily before grabbing his phaser and shooting the thread that held the chemist. Anderson fell unceremoniously to the floor with a dull thud and John fixed an exasperated glare on Sherlock.

“Oops.” Sherlock said innocently, and turned, striding out of the container and room toward the shuttle bay. John sighed and followed him. He would apologize to Anderson when the chemist woke up, but in all honesty, John really didn’t like him either.

* * *

After the still-unconscious members of the away team were returned to the Baker, Sherlock and John returned to the Traveler, much to the chagrin of Lestrade. Sherlock insisted they had to and that whether Lestrade wanted it or not, Sherlock was going to help the creature get back to its planet.

Aboard the Traveler, Sherlock and John were greeted by the thing in the shuttle bay. It stared at them eerily and suspiciously as approached them. Sherlock walked up to meet it. He said something quietly and the creature peered at him, blinking again. Sherlock had to take that as acknowledgement and started to set up the signal boosters for the shuttle’s transporter. The ship’s lead casing was thinnest in the shuttle bay, as well as closer to the gaseous planet. He knew if they could set up transporter boosters they would be able to transport the creature off the Traveler and back to the planet.

He stepped back from the triangle of metallic tubes he’d formed around the creature and entered the shuttle, pressing the coordinates into the transporter computer. He stepped back outside just as the creature was de-atomized and smiled to himself.  
John watched him, frowning a little. “Sherlock. Why did we help it? It nearly killed us, and it did kill the crew of this ship.” Sherlock turned to look down at John with a smile.

“No, it didn’t. It was most likely playing with you. It was purely a case of miscommunication.” John’s mouth fell open he gawked at Sherlock.

“Miscommunication? Shooting me with paralytic venom and hanging me upside down like a spider’s meal was miscommunication? Am I to understand that it was really trying to play ring-around-the-rosy with me?” he exclaimed. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Don’t try to be witty, John, it really doesn’t come off well,” he sighed. “The creature we encountered was actually a child of its race. The other… its parent, I would have to assume… that was the one who destroyed this ship and killed its crew. Although that I would have to assume was simply a protective occurrence.”

“How do you know there was another one? A bigger one?”

“What else could have caused this much damage?” Sherlock gestured around them. “Our friend was only my height and roughly my strength. There is no way it could have ripped beams out of walls. No, it was the parent. The cries we heard were the child’s cries. I’m sure even you heard the mourning tone.” Thinking back, John realized that was what had struck him as so odd about the cries.

“Okay,” he said slowly, reentering the shuttle with Sherlock. They started back to the Baker and were finally able to take off their protective helmets. “So what happened to its parent?”

Sherlock frowned. “I think it got thrown into space after the shuttle bay was blasted open. The baby was in one of the containers already, so it was untouched. A tragic ending on all sides.”

* * *

Once on board the Baker Sherlock and John scoured the remainder of the captain’s logs from the Traveler. Most of what Sherlock had deduced was confirmed, though the fate of the parent was still up for debate. After the shuttle bay was blown out, it appeared that all logs and communications were cut off in the ship. Nothing more could be discovered from the Traveler, and in respect for the dead crew, Lestrade had a monument replicated and sent to float permanently in front of the ship. It also sent out a signal for other ships to stay away from the planet and leave the creatures that lived there in peace.

Sherlock had plenty of data from his encounter with the creature, and was pleased that the incident had a non-lethal outcome. It was an interesting species, this one, and in the future he decided to check in on their progress, perhaps even send probes to the surface. This excursion to the Beta Quadrant was turning out to be quite interesting, and he looked forward to whatever lay ahead.


	4. Bored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months after the incident with The Traveler Sherlock is already bored and begins to bother the crew, with Lestrade, even John telling him off. Sherlock finds a friendlier reaction in Dr. Hooper, who lets him help her with her research on PX-10001, which she dubbed Thebes. They bond over figuring out the mystery of a strange, triangular object found on the planet, supposedly left there by the mysterious attacker that destroyed the civilization.

Stardate 2434.3.2: Interstellar Space, Beta Quadrant

 

Bored. So very bored.

Sherlock lounged on the desk chair in his quarters, staring at the ceiling, wondering why there had been nothing for two months. The first few weeks after the Traveler incident had been alright. He’d been busy going over the logs and data he’d collected; but that was weeks, and weeks ago! So far the Baker had come across nothing but a few stars and planets with no real significance, at least not to Sherlock. He had to settle on simply doing more boring experiments with boring subjects. He had tried to make it interesting, but John had refused to cooperate in Sherlock’s scheme to do a study of the reaction of people who had just been told they were going to die.

He sighed and languidly looked around the room, a scowl forming on his face. _This is ridiculous_ , he thought, jumped up, and strode out of his quarters. His expression must have been quite intimidating because whatever crewmember he encountered in the halls, they steered clear of him, careful not to meet his eyes. He made his way to the bridge, and where he would normally be ignored (and want to be ignored), once he began to berate the science officer at her station, Lestrade turned on him and shouted at him to get off “his bridge!” Sherlock began to argue back, naturally, with his final words something he would later come to regret, though soon forget.

“If it weren’t for my funds, Captain,” he said with contempt. “You wouldn’t be on this bridge.”

Lestrade looked at him like he was about to snap and strangle the scientist and really he was on the verge. Instead he took a few deep breaths. “Sherlock. Leave. My. Bridge.”

Something in Lestrade’s tone made Sherlock reluctantly adhere to the command and he left, gave some vague command to the lift and found himself on deck 10, the same level as Molly Hooper’s offices. He considered the option and found it might be agreeable. It wasn’t unusual for him to seek something from her, whether it be help with an experiment or something to perform an experiment on, she was always accommodating.  He nodded once to himself and three turns down the corridors later swept into her office and lab quarters. Sherlock looked about for her and found her hunched over a table examining a bone, her back to the door. She was completely absorbed by her work and didn’t notice who had come in and waved vaguely in Sherlock’s direction. “Just leave the test results on the table in my office, thank you Mike,” she said, her tone dismissing. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and walked over to the doctor, who still hadn’t noticed him. Something he found irritating. He stood in front of her, on the opposite side of the work table she sat at.

“Dr. Hooper.” He said, his voice betraying his annoyance. Molly raised her head slowly and finally saw who it was. She blushed and smiled, immediately – though gingerly – putting down the bone.

“Dr. Holmes! I, um, I thought you were Dr. Stamford,” she explained, looking behind her as if she expected Stamford to be there, then back to Sherlock. “He has some specimens of mine from Thebes that I was trying… it’s not important.” She cleared her throat and stood up, transferring the femur bone she was examining from the table to a clear container. As the expedition had gone on, and she and Sherlock had interacted more often, her stammering and nervousness around him had dwindled. She wasn’t afraid or intimidated by him anymore. Not much, anyway.

“I’m bored.” He stated. “And everyone seems to be cross at me for some reason.”

Molly raised her brows. “You’re surprised by that?” she asked, amused, causing Sherlock to narrow his eyes at her, indeed surprised by her reaction.

“Is there a reason for their reactions? Other than being unable to see the importance of my mind staying stimulated.” He said sullenly; Molly smiled.

“Dr. Holmes, when you get this way,” she vaguely gestured at him. “You tend to be rather… well, rather terse with people.”

“Ordinary, I’m surrounded by nothing except ordinary, boring people.” He grumbled, picking up the femur bone absently. Molly glared at him and took the bone from him, placing it back in the container.

“If you’re so bored with ordinary people, then why are you here?” she asked irritably, and took the container to a cupboard full of many other containers of varying sizes. He followed her, frowning.   


“I told you. I’m bored.” He said. “And while you may be ordinary you also have an interesting vocation. What are the specimens Stamford was testing?”

She looked at him for a moment, trying to decide whether to tell him to leave and bother someone else, or allow him to stay and ignore his comments. She finally sighed in resignation and decided on the latter. “I think I found enough DNA on one of the bodies from Thebes to test. That’s what I decided to call the planet with that plant monster…” He nodded. “Well, I sent it to him to validate that it was actually DNA, and what sort. I’d normally do it myself, but I’m a bit behind on my other research.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up and he smiled, something Molly could never resist. “Other research?” he prodded. She smiled back and nodded.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you helped a little,” she said, pulling out a different container, this one inhabited by a piece of clay. She placed it on the work table in place of the femur bone and opened the container. “I’ve been going through all the artifacts and remains we found on Thebes. So far I’ve concluded that whoever they were, they were very human-like, with very similar bone structure, and even their civilization seems to bear some similarities to ours.”

Sherlock nodded, gloving his hands as he listened to her speak. He picked up the clay, which appeared to be a bowl, and turned it in his hands examining and making deductions.

“Craftsmanship pedestrian. The woman who made this clayed for a hobby.” He murmured. “Her painting skills were much more advanced.”

Molly listened to him, a slight smile on her face. “How can you tell it was a woman?” she asked.

He held the piece of clay out to her. “The width of the lines and delicacy of the strokes indicate a woman’s hand. I could be wrong. Though as we both know, that’s highly improbable.” He flashed a smile and took a swift turn around the room. “Where else do you require my assistance?” he asked rubbing his hands together. Molly frowned and set the clay piece back down in its container.

“I don’t _require_ your help, Dr. Holmes.” She said indignantly. “I am perfectly capable of practicing my expertise without you.”

“Sherlock.”

“What?”

“Call me Sherlock,” he stopped his frenetic stroll and faced her, a slightly disgusted look on his face. “I don’t like being called Dr. Holmes.”

Molly blinked once or twice, surprised. “Oh, um, alright.” She said slowly. “Sherlock it is.” She wondered if that meant she and Dr-  Sherlock, were friends. A lot of other people called him Dr. Holmes and he never said a word to them. Although she had to admit that on a few occasions she’d caught him give a few of those people a nasty glare. She also wondered why it had taken him three months of interrupting and absconding her work to ask her that she call him by his first name. Perhaps it was trust thing for him, which made sense, considering the only friendships he had were those of the Watsons and Lestrade (possibly, she was never sure on that count).

“Now, Dr. Hooper…”

“Molly.” She quipped, smiling at him. It was his turn to blink in surprise. “You can call me Molly. Dr. Hooper is a bit formal.”

“Yes,” he said hesitantly. “Very well. Molly, what do you have that you can’t determine the answer?”

She rolled her eyes and went back to the cupboard of specimens and materials from Thebes. There were a few other things from the various planets they’d discovered since Thebes, but she knew none of it would interest Sherlock. Instead she pulled out a container that held something she had been wary to look over, it was so strange, but it was just the sort of thing to hold Sherlock’s attention.

“This was something we discovered in the temple the creature was living in,” she said, placing the container on the examination table. Sherlock sat down eagerly and pulled the top off the container. Inside was a flat, black triangular object. He put gloves on and picked it up, turning it over in his hands as he had the piece of clay. Molly watched apprehensively, unsure of what to expect. Sherlock muttered to himself, his deductions coming unchecked and free.

“… an inch thick, seemingly made from a meteorite with a high volume of granite. Not handmade, much too smooth… lasers, perhaps? Ah! The same as what destroyed the pyramids in the first place,” he smiled, delighted. “This is from the civilization that destroyed the Thebans.”

Molly’s eyes widened and all her fear of the object was suddenly understood and ignored simultaneously as she snatched the triangle from Sherlock, her own eyes scouring the glassy surface. He looked at her irritably, but didn’t try to take the object back. He watched her, rather admiring the way she got excited.

“This is amazing…” she whispered. “But what could it possibly be? Do you think it opens somehow?”

“Perhaps if you would give it back,” he said pointedly, holding his palms out, “I could tell you.”

Molly’s face went a little red and she gingerly placed the triangle back in Sherlock’s hands. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t be,” he said. “Your scientific curiosity is admirable and your excitement appropriate.”

She smiled and pulled up a second stool to sit beside him. “Thank you,” she said softly.

For the next three hours they worked together examining the triangle, though no matter what tests they did, how many times they ran their hands over its surface, it didn’t reveal any clues other than what Sherlock had already deduced. He stood up and began to pace, ruffling his hair as he released his frustration on Molly.

“There is nothing, nothing!” he exclaimed. “It’s entirely blank!”

She sighed and rubbed her eyes, tired from bending over the dark piece of rock. “We’re just missing something.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and glared at Molly. “How very astute an observation, Dr. Hooper! We’re just missing something! Why could I not see this hours ago? I wouldn’t have wasted so much time on examining the damn thing!” he snapped.

Molly slowly stood, her brow furrowed. “I’m just trying to help, Sherlock,” she said. “You don’t need to get so upset.”

“If you want to help then stop making idiotic and obvious statements and leave me alone,” he said sullenly, and sat back down, picked up the triangle and began to examine it again. Molly stared at him angrily. She considered simply leaving, as he said, and letting him sulk it out, but decided that instead, she would tell him off the way he deserved. She plucked the triangle from Sherlock’s hands and placed it back in its container. Sherlock looked up at her with narrowed eyes and an open mouth, about to say something she was sure would be a slight.

“Get out of my lab,” she stated before he could speak. “Please.”

Sherlock looked at her in confusion. “What?”

“Get out of my lab,” she repeated, punctuating each word. “I won’t be spoken too like a first-year assistant. This is my lab, my work, and I will not allow you to disrespect me. I have a Ph.D. in anthropology, a medical degree in pathology, and just as much field experience as you. I deserve – no, demand – respect.” She stopped and took a deep breath, a sense of relief washing over her. She’d wanted to say those thing to Sherlock Holmes for a long time. She looked at him with a slight smile on her face. “Unless you want to apologize and then work with and treat me like an adult and colleague, leave.”

He slowly stood, his eyes never leaving hers. He was surprised, she could tell, by her order. Molly had to admit that she was surprised in herself. _It’s about time,_ she thought, _that I get to leave him flustered._

“I’m sorry, Molly Hooper.”

Molly blinked in silence for a moment, having fully expected him to turn on his heel and leave her lab. Instead he actually had a penitent expression on his face as he awaited her reply. “Oh, well. Thank you, Sherlock,” she said, quite thrown off. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

He nodded curtly and reached for the triangle again, looking expectantly at her as his hand grasped the container beside hers. She glanced down and immediately removed her hand, allowing him to pull the container back to him. He plopped back down on his stool and went back to examining the black triangle. At first Molly didn’t know what to do, but not a minute later he spoke, never breaking his focus away from the object in his hands. “Aren’t you going to assist me, Molly?” She opened her mouth to protest.

“As a colleague, that is,” he added, his eyes flicking briefly in her direction.

“Yes, Sherlock,” she took the stool beside him again and smiled. “I am.”

With renewed energy they both set their eyes on the triangle stone, trying to determine what could possibly be so important about it that it needed to be safeguarded in such a thorough way. Sherlock went through all the improbabilities in his head, throwing one out after the other, trying this and that on its surface, but nothing happened. Molly watched, her eyes on the triangle as Sherlock turned it over in his hands. She saw a light as Sherlock swiped his fingers over its flat surface, and sat up straight. “Sherlock, let me see it,” she said excitedly. He immediately looked up, her tone catching his attention, and handed her the triangle. She took it eagerly and lay it down on the table between them, then mimicked the movement Sherlock had done that had alerted her. A red light blinked along its bottom edge, a quick flash, gone as soon as it had appeared and she laughed. “That’s how it’s locked!” she exclaimed.

Sherlock took it back and moved his finger where she had, his eyes flashing with excitement. “Molly Hooper. I do believe you’ve discovered the key.”

* * *

They worked together on the triangle for another six hours before being frustrated once again by its glassy surface’s secrets. Every hue of red appeared as they tried any and every combination they could think of, putting down each one in the computer so they wouldn’t confuse themselves, or rather, so Molly wouldn’t get confused. Sherlock remembered every single one they tried. He didn’t explode again, not in the same manner, though he did accidentally break one of Molly’s microscopes as his frenetically charged hands flew up in disgust after he exclaimed that the triangle wasn’t interesting, but bloody ludicrous! He did apologize, though after she had cleaned up the mess he had gone right back to the triangle.

“Sherlock, why don’t you try to focus on something else?” Molly asked wearily, rather tired and frustrated herself at the triangle. “Maybe we just need to leave it alone for a little while, rest our minds.”

He glared at her. “There can only be a certain number of combinations!” he ruffled his hair and stared at the object in question, resting his hands on the table at either side of it, simply looking at the thing. She’d thought he’d finally snapped and frowned in concern, but realized after a moment he was in his ‘mind-palace’, the place in his brain that held all the information he’d gather and bothered to find a place for in his memory.

She looked at the clock on her wall, and gasped in surprise at how late it had gotten. She looked at Sherlock, uncomfortable with leaving him alone in her lab like this, but too tired to stay awake. She decided to make use of the couch in her office, leaving the door open to the lab so she could hear him if he needed her, or if he discovered something. Almost as soon as her head hit the cushion she was asleep, having not realized the extent of her exhaustion.

* * *

It was only twenty minutes after she had fallen asleep that Sherlock came out of his mind-palace stupor. He glanced around for Molly, scowling at finding she had gone, when his eyes met the clock on the wall (rather old-fashioned of her to have one of those, instead of the standard Starfleet timekeepers). It had gotten very late, and while he never slept much while on some interesting experiment or investigating some mysterious occurrence, he knew Molly must. He stood up and walked into her office. The door was open so she must have gone in there instead of her usual quarters. Sherlock had every intention of waking her up, requiring her assistance for another experiment he wanted to try on the triangle, but when he saw her sleeping he found he couldn’t bring himself to wake her. It was his fault, after all, that she was so tired.

_But this is important!_ He argued with himself.

No. He could perform the experiment alone. It was really unnecessary to have Molly, though her company would have been appreciated.

_Company? Why would I..? Is this… affection?_ He shook his head. Respect, he decided. It was respect for her professional capabilities and nothing more; and in that day alone, he’d gained more respect for her than he’d ever had. She was competent, intelligent, a colleague in the truest sense (although, of course, with nowhere near the intellect he held. No one could pretend otherwise). Before that day she’d been a good assistant, but now, after what had occurred, after her seeing what he had missed, he could not deny that he had underestimated her, something he would not do again.


	5. Phasers and Stones Break Ships Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sudden encounter with a powerful asteroid storm leaves the ship floating in space, heavily damaged, the crew separated from each other. John and Lestrade are on the bridge, Mary is stuck in Engineering, and Sherlock has to deal with Anderson as they try to pry Molly out of a collapsed Jefferies Tube.

Stardate 2434.3.5

 

“Shut up, Anderson.”

“Sherlock!” Molly gave him a mortified look, and then apologized to Anderson. “I’m sorry, Dr. Anderson, you know how he is when he’s in one of his moods.”

Anderson glared at Sherlock, hardly acknowledging Molly, much less the apology she made for the irate, but brilliant man who walked between them through the Baker’s level twelve corridors. “You’re a prat, Sherlock Holmes! Think you’re better than me, than anyone else on this ship? You’re not.”

“Dr. Anderson!” Molly exclaimed, angry now at the both of them.

“It’s quite alright, Molly,” Sherlock said coldly, and directed a menacing at Anderson. “Dr. Anderson is simply displaying the state of jealousy he has been in perpetually since he was five, due to everyone he’s ever met having higher IQs than himself.”

“Sherlock!” Molly cried again. “Stop it now! Both of you! Neither of you are acting like adults or the professionals you claim to be!”

The ship shook violently, almost as if in concurrence with Molly’s outburst, causing everyone walking through the halls to either collapse on the floor or seek refuge and support against the walls.

“What’s happened?” Molly gasped. “Are we under attack?” she stayed close to the wall as the ship shook again. The ship made noise as if it was cracking open, causing Anderson to scurry close to the wall as well, next to Molly. Sherlock was on the opposite side. He shook his head.

“It’s not an attack.”

 

* * *

 

            The asteroid storm had just appeared without any warning, completely hidden by a nebula, one whose radiation the science team on the Baker was studying. Lestrade and the bridge had done their best to stabilize the ship through the onslaught, but the giant rocks paid no heed to their efforts. The Baker was mercilessly attacked, the asteroids quickly dispelling the ship’s shields. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the asteroids passed, leaving the ship defenseless, the crew separated, and the corridors wrecked.

John had been on the bridge with the science team, waiting for Sherlock to arrive when the storm came upon them. Now the bridge was in shambles, and he suspected the rest of the ship was the same. The comms and life support were the only systems functioning; the lights and the control panels flickered on and off in a ghostly dance, and the ship’s red alert alarm repeated like a broken record, annoying Lestrade.

“Turn that damn thing off! We all know the ship’s in trouble,” he snapped.

Ensign T’Lak reached up from the floor where she had fallen and immediately tried to turn it off. Thankfully the computer was still working somewhat and she managed to silence the noise.

“Thank you,” Lestrade breathed a sigh in relief. “Now, someone want to explain to me what just happened?”

“We were hit by a heavy asteroid storm sir,” Donovan replied. “The radiation from nebula left our sensors blind to it! Our shields were already weakened by the radiation, and they went down quickly. We got hit badly.”

“Damage assessment?” Lestrade asked.

“Decks 2 and 15 have hull breaches, all decks have heavy damage, and lifts and transporters are offline.” Donovan replied. “We’re working on getting comms back on.”

Lestrade ran his hands over his face, wincing as he brushed against a bruise on his temple from where he’d hit his head on the way to the floor after the first asteroid. “Alright, work on getting the sensors up too. We need to know if there are more of the damn things headed our way.”

Donovan nodded and set about giving orders. John was tending the injured, though he was anxious to know about his friends. Since comms weren’t up, no one knew how many people were hurt. He didn’t know if Sherlock, or Molly, or Mary, were alright. If Mary was hurt he needed to get to her somehow.

 

* * *

 

            At the time the asteroid storm struck the ship, Mary was listening to a complaint being made by the Chief Engineer, Renny Barton. Apparently someone had been taking tools from his supply. None of them were really necessary, except that “you never knew!” Mary had a vague idea of who might be the thief – a certain scientist by the name of Sherlock – and told Barton she would take care of it. She had just been leaving when the wave of space rocks hit the ship, tossing everyone to the ground as the ship was barraged. When the aimless attack finally stopped, Mary scrambled up to assess the damage and help whoever she could. Barton was already trying to contact the bridge, though it seemed the communication system was down. Worry plagued Mary about John. She knew he’d been on the bridge, and, judging by all the broken ceiling panels and wires flicking and sparking from behind those panels in Engineering, she couldn’t take comfort other parts of the ship weren’t damage, perhaps to an even worse degree.

“Are the lifts working?” she asked Barton. He shook his head.

“No! Nothing is working! I’m trying to get comms up, I know the bridge will need that first, but I don’t know if I can do that. I can’t even diagnose where the problems are because the computer is down!” He hit the console violently in anger, inadvertently causing it to flicker to life. He looked up at Mary in delighted surprise. “I am a computer god,” he claimed and immediately set to work. It took him twenty minutes to finally get the comms up and once he did Mary told him to get the bridge right away.

“This is Lieutenant Watson,” she said officially. “Bridge! Is anyone there!” She waited for a second that seemed to last forever before Lestrade answered.

“Glad to see comms are working again,” he remarked. “How’s every-”

“Mary! Mary, are you alright?” John’s frantic voice swallowed Lestrade’s and Mary smiled in relief.

“I’m fine, John. Are you hurt?” she asked anxiously.

“No, I’m great.” She could hear the smile on his voice. “Do you know where Sherlock is?”

His question caused her to frown. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t heard anything from him. I thought he was on the bridge?”

“No,” worry once again edged John’s voice as he replied. “He didn’t make it up here before the asteroids hit.”

“We’ll find him, John,” Mary said quietly.

“Can I have the comms back now?” Lestrade cut in irritably. “Thank you. Barton, what systems can you get back online?”

Barton pressed a few commands into the computer as he answered. “I’m working on getting the rest of the computers up so we can try to start fix up, but, Captain,” he sighed and stopped. “It doesn’t look good. From what I can tell down here the aft nacelle is heavily damaged, leaving warp out of the question until we can get it to a port someplace, and there is a hull breach in one of the lift corridors on the starboard side, deck 15, pretty much leaving using any of the lifts out of the question. Jefferies tubes are the only way to get anywhere, and most of those have collapsed from those damn things piercing the hull.”

Lestrade’s voice was stern, an attempt to hide the worry for his crew and ship. “What about injuries? The bridge computers are still acting up and we can’t tell if anyone is seriously hurt. Has anyone reported in?”

“A few, sir,” Barton replied, glancing at information that had just started to trickle in. “About twenty percent of those who have reported have severe injuries, most of the others are only minor cuts and bruises. A few broken limbs too. Sir,” Barton suddenly sobered.  “I’ve never experienced an asteroid storm like this.”

“I know Commander. This quadrant has quite a few surprises for us.”

 

* * *

 

            Molly woke with a groan and winced, the pain not worth the slight exhale. She could tell from how difficult it was to breathe that at least two ribs were broken and pressing into her lungs. She’d hit her head as the support beam in the Jefferies tube collapsed, but that was a minor problem compared to being stuck between corridors, half her body buried underneath rubble. She didn’t blame Sherlock. The only way for them to get out of the halls and to another deck was through the Jefferies tubes. None of them could know that the insular tubes had been compromised as well. It was a complete surprise to have the tube start to crumble and she couldn’t scramble out of the way fast enough. The surrounding metal and beams had fallen on her legs and waist. Miraculously, her legs weren’t broken in the incident. She had no idea how Sherlock or Anderson were; they had been on the other side of the collapse.

“Sherlock?” she called weakly. She could hear a fierce voice shout at someone from the other side and assumed that Sherlock and Anderson were once again arguing with each other. “Sherlock!” she shouted. “Damn!” she bit her lip hard to keep herself from crying at the pain from the effort it took to yell.

“Molly.” Sherlock’s calm voice reached her through the rubble, though it was edged with annoyance. “Are you hurt?”

“Y-yes,” she replied slowly. “But not too badly.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “You’re a terrible liar, Molly Hooper,” he stated soberly.

“Are you alright?” she asked, dodging the obvious. “Is Anderson hurt?”

“Not yet,” Sherlock replied grimly. Anderson muttered something but Molly couldn’t quite make out what he said, though something that sounded like ‘bastard’ managed to make it to her ears.

“What about everyone else?” she asked, worry about their friends pushing out concerns about herself. “John? Mary?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been stuck in the Jefferies tube trying to get you out,” he said, his tone a bit accusatory. Molly scowled, although she knew he couldn’t see her.

“I’m sorry I’m such a bother.” She snapped. “Why don’t you get out, because I assume you can, and go find the others?”

“Because you’re not out yet,” he replied simply. “And considering you have at least two broken ribs, you seem to be the priority.”

Molly blinked in surprise. “How did you know that?” she asked bluntly, deciding not to try to deny his accurate deduction.

“Your breathing is labored,” she heard scrapings and grunts as he attempted to pull apart the debris. “You gasp slightly every time you inhale, indicating something is pressing against your lungs.”

“Oh,” she said. It still amazed her the things he could tell, the things he knew. “Well, I’ll be alright. I don’t have a punctured lung, or internal bleeding.” Yet, she added in her head. If she was in that position for too much longer, that might very well be the outcome.

“Excellent. Anderson! It would be appreciated if you would assist me!” He snapped, causing Molly to jump slightly.

“You were in the way!” Anderson exclaimed indignantly, not wanting to appear as if he wasn’t willing to help the injured doctor on the other side of the debris.

“Yes, because I was trying to help Dr. Hooper,” Sherlock sneered. “Put yourself to use for once.”

With a grumbled curse Molly heard Anderson begin to add his hands to removing the damaged Tube material.

“Sherlock?” John Watson’s voice came over the comm attached to Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock immediately pressed it to respond.

“John. Good of you to check in,” he said casually; Sherlock could practically hear the doctor roll his eyes and despite the grim situation, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, you know me, always wanting something more exciting,” John said, laughing slightly. “Is everything alright? Who is that grunting?”

Sherlock glanced at Anderson, who was still industriously working on the debris. “Oh, that’s Anderson. We’re trying to release Dr. Hooper from debris in the Deck 12 Jefferies tube.”

“Molly! Is she alright?” John asked in his concerned, doctor’s tone. “Is she injured?”

“Yes. Severely.” Sherlock replied. “If you can manage, it would be prudent to have a medical team on hand when we get her out.”

“I’ll do what I can, Sherlock,” John promised. “I’m on the bridge, but I’m sure there’s medical personnel nearby on Deck 12.”

“Thank you, John. Did we get any data on the wave that hit us?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“What?”

“What hit us, John?” Sherlock asked slowly, enunciating each word in irritation.

“Oh. Asteroids. The sensors didn’t pick them until it was too late. Donovan suggested that the nebula caused some sort of malfunction, and weakened the shields. That’s why there’s so much damage.”

Sherlock snorted. “If Donovan ‘suggested’ anything, then I’m sure it’s not what occurred.”

“Sherlock…” Molly’s voice came through the debris as a warning.

“She’s absolutely incompetent! Lestrade should have better sense then to have her as first officer.” Sherlock continued sullenly.

“Sherlock! Ow!” Molly uttered a frustrated cry of pain. “Would you quit complaining about Donovan and get me out of here!” Sherlock pulled himself back to the issue at hand, Molly’s pained demand reminding him a colleague – no, friend – was in trouble.

“I’ll get you out, Molly,” he said, his voice urgent but reassuring. Anderson glanced at him and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t mind me, I’m not helping at all,” Anderson muttered.

 

* * *

 

            After the comms were fixed it became apparent that the ship-wide damage was worse than Lestrade had thought. The engines would only be able to function on impulse drive, as Barton had warned, the lifts were completely shot until someone could patch the wiring, and while the Jefferies tubes were the only way to move from deck to deck, they were unsafe. It was a predicament that the captain wished hadn’t come to be, but for his crew’s sake he had to be stoic. Dr. Hooper was stuck in a collapsed Jefferies tube and needed medical attention. There were plenty of others who were also seriously injured. They needed to be the priorities before the ship could be fixed.

“Ensign Kalitta,” he said, causing the young Klingon to snap to attention at her station.

“Yes, sir?”

“Tell all the engineering crew on decks 10, 11, and 13 to head to deck 12 and get the medical facilities safe and operational first. We need to take care of the wounded before beginning to patch up the Baker.” He commanded. She nodded and turned to relay the order to the teams via comm. “Dr. Watson, I believe those of us on the bridge are now healthy enough to perform our duties,” Lestrade looked at the doctor. “You should go join Holmes and help Dr. Hooper.”

John looked at Lestrade gratefully and nodded. He made his way to the Jefferies tube near the lift and practically slid down the various ladders to the twelfth deck’s tubes. On the way he contacted Mary.   
  
“How’s everything in Engineering?” he asked her. She sighed on the other side and he knew she was shaking her head.

“Not good. Apparently Barton said the asteroids rather severely harmed our warp drive. We can’t use it, and he says impulse power is pretty spotty at best.”

“Yes, but how are you?” John prodded gently. “Safe? You aren’t hurt, right?”

Mary laughed wearily. “No, John, I’m not. Not seriously. Don’t worry about me, help Molly and anyone else who needs you. We can trade horror stories later.”

“Okay,” he managed to smile. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

 

* * *

 

            By the time John managed to reach the debris, Sherlock and Anderson had managed to clear most of it, and could now see Molly, though there was still a heavy piece of metal – part of the magnetic door – that still held her captive across her waist.

“Excellent timing, John,” Sherlock remarked, Dr. Watson having come down on the other side of the debris, where the upper half of Molly’s body was free. “I don’t suppose you brought any sedatives? I’m quite ready to use some on Anderson.”

“Dr. Holmes, I have had enough of you!” Anderson exclaimed angrily.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s had enough of the _both of them._ ” Molly hissed. John clucked his tongue and told her to be quiet while he examined her.

“Sherlock, how about we get that door off her?” he suggested as he looked her over. The scientist looked at John grimly.

“I’m afraid we don’t have the equipment, John. We need a pulley system so that it won’t fall back on her or us as we lift it off.”

John sat back and looked back up the tubes he’d come down. “Deck thirteen is just up this ladder, I can secure something from there, I think.”

Molly glanced up as well and then back at Sherlock. “What if that doesn’t work?” she asked quietly.

“It will work.”

“Yes, but what if it doesn’t? This thing will fall back down and take out anyone in here with it.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. “Your point?”

“My point,” she sighed. “Is that you and Anderson should get out so you’re not risking your lives.”

Anderson was already halfway down the tube corridor, heading back to deck twelve. Sherlock looked at his retreating form in disgust. “While an understandable precaution, Dr. Hooper, someone will have to assist you in removing yourself from underneath the debris. Unless I am mistaken, you’re injuries are too extensive to allow you to move fast enough.” He glanced up at John who nodded in affirmation. “That being the case, I am not moving,” he spoke each word deliberately, his eyes boring into hers. “Until you are free.”

Molly swallowed and nodded, all she was able to do when he looked at her like that. She didn’t think she could possibly be important enough for him to stay with her, but it wasn’t the first time he had surprised her, and in all probability, wouldn’t be the last.

John looked at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll just go get the straps, then,” he said. Sherlock nodded and decided to ignore his friend’s pointed look. Molly was no more than a colleague, something his friend seemed to miss.

 

* * *

 

            Three hours later the pulley system was in place and three crewman and John were ready to attempt the rescue and pull the door off Molly. Sherlock kept his word and stayed with Molly, not that there was anywhere else he could be, as he adamantly stated. He couldn’t go up, and there was nothing for him to do in the Deck 12 corridors other than wait. Besides, someone needed to ensure John put the pulleys into place correctly. He wasn’t an engineer after all.

“Neither are you, Sherlock,” Molly pointed out softly; Sherlock looked up at her with a scowl but said nothing. She looked down and attempted to ignore the growing pain and sense of foreboding. She thought of what might happen if this didn’t work and looked up at him with wide eyes. “I forgot to tell you. I got the triangle open.” She said, feeling he needed to know before whatever happened next. Molly had finally cracked the black granite triangle that both she and Sherlock had been working on for weeks. She’d figured out the code and it had opened. What was inside had disturbed her and she had sought out Sherlock.

“Why didn’t you say something before!” he exclaimed, his face darkening in anger. It was her turn to scowl and she shook her head.

“You were arguing with Anderson! I couldn’t get a word in with the way you two were going! Even if you had acknowledged I was there!” she exclaimed.

“What’s the code?” He snapped. “I need to know in case-” he stopped as he realized what he was about to say.

“Get me a tablet and I’ll put it down,” she said quietly, making him frown.

“Now?”

“Yes, now!” she shot back. “Now before I die and you don’t get to know the answer.”

Sherlock looked at her with furrowed brows, slightly confused. It was unusual for Molly to take the practical route, however, it was concerning how cold she seemed. Giving up wasn’t like Molly Hooper. “While I do agree that would be the prudent course of action, perhaps we could discuss it after we get you out.” He said, and she groaned in frustration, letting her head fall back against the wall of the Jefferies tube.

“We’re ready up here, Sherlock,” John called down.

“Good, you’d better get me out of here before I throttle him,” Molly said angrily, glaring at Sherlock. He could be so stubborn; she was trying to help him and all he could do was look at her passively, seeming unperturbed by her ire, and then up the tube at John.

“I’m ready here, as well. Molly,” he turned to her again. “Move as quickly as you can once the door is up. I can’t guarantee the pulley will hold for long.”

She sighed and nodded. “I understand.” She braced herself, preparing for the speed she’d have to move, and the pain that would come with it.

“Now John!” Sherlock called up.

Molly suddenly felt the weight of the debris lift away from her body and she slid toward Sherlock, ignoring the pain shooting through her body as her fractured ribs pressed against her internal organs. Sherlock caught her and helped her toward the Deck 12 entrance. By the time they got there she was barely able to breathe and felt like a spike had been pierced right through her body. The medics waiting there per Lestrade’s orders quickly went to work and gently lifted the scientist onto a floating stretcher. Sherlock watched the medics take her toward the med bay, and felt it was wrong she should go without him. Those medics didn’t know what they were doing.

“Ah, Sherlock?” John’s voice came over the comm, sounding a little strained and breathless, and stopped Sherlock in his tracks as he began to follow after Molly. “Can we release the pulley now?”

 

* * *

 

            Barton, once he was able to leave Engineering, found the damage to the ship was extensive. It wouldn’t be repaired mid-space. They had to get to a port and shut everything down before he and the rest of the engineering crew could fix anything. It didn’t make Lestrade happy, but there was nothing he could do if the ship couldn’t get to warp speed without the repairs. On impulse power, the Baker started back toward a space port it had come across on the way to the nebula. In the meantime, the crew would have to pull together and suffer through the broken ship’s internment.

Mary and John didn’t think it was so bad, though Sherlock was having a difficult time having no power to use his computers. All experiments had to be put on hold, according to Lestrade, until the ship was fully repaired.

“He is purposely doing this to me,” Sherlock complained. Mary and he were walking to the med bay to visit Molly and John, and Mary was bearing the brunt of Sherlock’s frustrations. “My experiments are time sensitive!” He went on like that until they reached the bay, which had been the first place besides Engineering to be repaired, and so was looking fairly normal, though still-wet plaster gave a clue as to where the place had taken and experienced damage from the asteroid storm.

When they entered the medical area of the ship they found John checking on Molly, both of them smiling at one of Dr. Stamford’s jokes as the other doctor examined another patient. Sherlock was pleased to see Molly was looking much better. Her movements were freer, which indicated that her ribs were healing quickly and well.

“John! Switch!” Mary said loudly, indicating that she wanted her husband to deal with Sherlock now. Sherlock glared at her and huffed over to Molly’s bedside, leaving a smirking Mary behind him.

“Dr. Hooper, you are looking well,” Sherlock remarked. “I see John’s medical degree was not in vain.” John rolled his eyes.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” he said sarcastically. “I always appreciate your critiques.” Molly smiled at the exchange.

“John is an excellent doctor,” she stated firmly. “And I am very lucky he’s in charge here.” Sherlock nodded and looked up at his friend with a question in his eyes: ‘how lucky?’

Molly’s injuries had been more substantial than what was initially inferred in the Jefferies Tube. When John was finally able to perform surgery, he found that the procedure was just in time. In the rushed movement to leave the Tube, Molly’s broken ribs had punctured her lungs and she had started to bleed internally. John did not waste time and he and his team were skilled enough that they quickly got the bleeding under control. Molly was definitely one of the lucky ones. The asteroid onslaught killed five crewmembers, either from falling debris or suffocated by a puncture to the ship, in addition to most of the crew suffering injuries of various seriousness. The medical bay was very busy, to say the least.

John explained all this quietly to Sherlock in an aside; he didn’t want Molly or his other patients to hear or see how very close many of them came to death. Sherlock could see how tired his friend was, and how worried he had been for his many patients. It reminded Sherlock just how caring John was, and though sentiment never appealed to Sherlock, he appreciated that aspect of John, as he was sure the doctor’s many friends did.

Sherlock glanced over at Molly again, his eyes flicking over the other patients. She was talking with Mary now, probably about something ridiculously trivial. He was itching to ask her about the code, but realized as well that if he did now, she’d grow angry at him again, and for some reason he wanted that was a scenario he wanted to avoid. She wasn’t very cooperative when she was angry. He would have to wait until she was better, though it was irritating to say the least.

Over the ship’s comm, Lestrade’s voice announced that they were approaching the space port and that all available hands needed to be at their stations. “You’ll need to hold the ship together, literally,” he muttered before shutting the comm off, eliciting smiles from his crew. Sherlock looked at John. “I should go up to the bridge,” he said, and received a nod in reply before John clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

“Try not to kill Lestrade when you’re up there, eh? I would really rather not clean up that mess.” He said with a chuckle. Sherlock glared at the doctor sullenly and turned to go, nodding to Molly before disappearing out of the medical bay.

As he walked to the nearest working lift, he hoped the port would be interesting. He was tired of having nothing to do but fix broken ship fixtures, and this might be an opportunity to stretch his brain muscles.

Hope. What an oddly sentimental term to use, he mused. John’s influence. He would have to speak the doctor about that the next time they were together.           

 


	6. Shore Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needing more intensive repairs because of the asteroid storm, the Baker lands at a spaceport in the unknown quadrant. Sherlock and John find themselves involved with the port police when a crewman witnesses a murder but can’t remember who did it and Lestrade asks them to investigate. Molly continues the research into Thebes and the mysterious triangle (finally getting it open) and discovers the name of 'Moriarty'.

Stardate 2434.3.10: Space port Terealka, Beta Quadrant

           

The port the Baker landed at didn’t exactly seem reputable. The walls were crumbling, the tiles on the roofs looked like they would break apart at the drop of a pin, but it had what the ship needed: a place for the ship and crew to rest and pull themselves back together. Barton gave an estimate of at least a week for the warp engines to be back up, earning a stern look and a response of ‘three days’ from Lestrade; the rest of the ship could be repaired en route.

By the time they reached the port, Molly was able to walk on her own, her injuries quickly healed thanks to John’s care, and the ship’s state of the art medical facilities. In fact, most of the crew were already well on their way to full health, something for which Lestrade was very grateful. He felt more secure being at unknown space port with his crew at least at seventy percent capacity. You never know, he thought. This part of the galaxy was strange and it was better to be prepared for anything than too trusting.

Sherlock stayed in his quarters and labs for the most part during the five days it took the Baker to reach the port. His labs were a shambles and unlikely to be completely repaired until after the Baker had landed at the port, though he did his best on his own, getting his equipment back in semi-working order. His experiments hadn’t been harmed very much during the asteroids’ onslaught, but a few were lost causes. Being limited to what he could do until the Baker was fully repaired, Sherlock turned to past time he hadn’t practiced in months: the violin. He had brought his instrument, though he hadn’t had time or opportunity to play, which was odd, because back on Earth playing the violin helped him think, as it cleared his mind of all other distractions and allowed him to concentrate solely on the music until a moment of insight. Finding less things to do now, he once again began to play. It was good, he found, and just the thing his always-active mind needed. He lost track of time as he played Bach’s Partita No. 2, using his preferred key of D minor. Just as he was reaching the end of the Sarabanda part of the piece, a ‘ding’ announced someone at his door and he stopped, irritated.

“Go away!” he shouted, and returned to playing, only to be interrupted again by another ‘ding’. He huffed out a low growl of frustration, stalked to the door, and opened it to find Molly Hooper looking at him in surprise.

“Was that you playing?” she asked, her eyes catching the violin in his hands.

“Yes, and I don’t appreciate being interrupted,” he told her coldly. She looked down and shrugged.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you could play,” she explained. “There’s always a surprise coming from you, isn’t there.” She added, to which he grunted in reply. “Anyway, I did have a reason beyond accidentally interrupting your concerto.”

“Partita,” he corrected. “What is it?”

“I came to remind you I cracked that triangle,” and she laughed a little. “Not you forget anything, but I did find it odd you haven’t come barging into the med bay, or my labs to demand the thing.”

Sherlock shifted his feet and looked past her down the corridor. “I did try, but John told me not to bother you,” he admitted. “He said, and I quote: ‘the damn triangle can wait, you selfish bastard.’” Sherlock glanced at Molly, who was holding back a grin, rather poorly. “In addition, Mary told me she would break my legs if I bothered you during your recovery.” 

Molly outright laughed at that. “Well, that was kind of them,” she said, thinking fondly of the Watsons. “I wouldn’t have minded though, not really. I understand the triangle is important, to me as well as you.”

“I tried to explain that to them, but my so-called friend and his wife would have none of it,” Sherlock sighed in exasperation, but then brightened up. “However, you are now nearly fully healed and we can open it and see what’s inside. John can’t shout at me if you came to me about it… can he?” Sherlock added, experiencing doubt. For most things the man was incomparable in knowledge, but when it came to societal niceties and ‘being considerate’, as John would say, Sherlock was ignorant. Not that the scientist cared, but John seemed to think it was important, and for that reason, Sherlock attempted to be better at showing interest in others (but not too much, that simply wouldn’t do, and most certainly would get in the way of his work).

Molly nodded. “Yes. I brought it with me,” she produced the container which held the black object. “Though I’m not sure about opening it in non-laboratory conditions…” She pursed her lips. “Only, my offices aren’t exactly clean anymore.”

“Then we shall use mine,” he said, and disappeared into his quarters to return his violin to its case, and rejoined her out in the hall in less than a minute. “I have managed to get my labs back to a minimal level of working order.” He started off down the hall, and Molly hurried to catch up to his long strides. The lifts were working once again, thanks to Chief Barton’s feverish pace on ship repairs, something which Molly was quite grateful. She didn’t want to be in another Jefferies Tube ever, if she could help it.

“Deck 9,” Sherlock told the machine, and immediately, though with a little, uncustomary jerk, the lift started the short trip down.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock’s labs certainly were in better order than the rest of the ship’s science facilities, except for the med bay.

“Did you manage all this by yourself?” Molly asked, marveling that the room looked almost as it had before the asteroids, except for a few telltale cracks in the ceiling and walls. Sherlock nodded distractedly and took the container which held the triangle from her, setting it on an examination table. She sighed and joined him at the table. When his mind was on something, there was no making small-talk. There was no talk at all, actually, except for his own mutterings. Now, however, he looked to her.

“I do believe you have the key,” he said pointedly.

“Oh! Right.” She flushed sheepishly and opened the container, pulled the object out, and set it down. Sherlock looked on eagerly, his eyes bright as he waited for the mystery of the triangle to either be revealed, or deepened. Molly pressed along the sides of the thing, the triangle once again lighting up with colors, but now there was a definite pattern, one which Sherlock immediately placed in his mind palace. _Blue – red – green – blue – green – white._

The flat side of the smooth black surface opened upward, as a small set of doors, yet with no hinges. Molly and Sherlock leaned in close to peer inside, but found not a collection of items, or a code, but what appeared to be a single word, in a language both of them recognized to be somewhat similar to the old Irish tongue on Earth; similar enough that Molly could read it.

“Moriarty.”

 

* * *

 

As Sherlock and Molly were trying to decipher what the word in the triangle meant, the Baker pulled into an open position at the space port Terealka. Lestrade announced that he and Chief Engineer Barton would go aboard the station and see what deals they could make to get help and hurry the Baker’s recovery. Mary wasn’t so keen on that idea, but her protests were ignored, so she insisted that Lestrade take at least three security officers, to which the captain reluctantly agreed.

“Sometimes I long for the days of being a simple crewman and running around doing whatever I pleased,” he grumbled.

“How did you make captain if you did what you pleased?” Mary asked, one eyebrow going up. Lestrade glared at her. “Sir?” she added smartly, smiling a little too sweetly.

“Never mind, Commander,” he muttered.

 

* * *

 

Lestrade and Barton managed to find a fair trader to get extra parts and workers for the Baker, something that surprised both of them. Being inside the station was worse than seeing the outside, which neither the captain nor his engineer thought was possible.

“I’m pretty sure luck and spit are the only things holding this place together,” Barton remarked as the successful away team walked back to the ship. Lestrade grunted in amusement and nodded.

“Maybe we should ask for a bucket of that spit for our needs,” he joked. “It’s tougher than titanium.”

On board once again, the captain made the decision to let his crew have a day off, in part to a request from the ship’s counselor, Martha Hudson, who asked for a meeting in his ready room when the away team returned.

“The poor things have been working so hard, trying to get the Baker someplace safe,” she worried. “I think it would be good for morale if they got at least a day to relax before working nonstop again.”

Lestrade had sighed and nodded. “You’re right, Counselor, as always. Lord knows we could all use a day. An hour, a minute, of a reprieve.”

 

* * *

 

When the crew heard the news there was almost a collective collapse in relief. Except for the holodecks and away missions, there weren’t many chances to be off the ship, stretch the tired muscles, and cure the cabin fever that had been growing the past few weeks, especially after the asteroid storm.

“I know it sounds callous, but I’m kind of glad that storm came up,” one crewman in the medbay remarked. “Blessing in disguise.”

John smiled a little. “Maybe,” he replied quietly. “Maybe.” In truth, John was as relieved as the rest of the crew. Getting off the ship and exploring an entirely new place with new species, cultures, and materials was going to be fun, even if the station wasn’t glamorous. He didn’t care, and he was certain the rest of the crew didn’t either. They all just wanted to get out and actually _see_ the quadrant they were exploring.

However, when the doctor went to Sherlock, he found the other man was less pleased about the prospect of going ashore.

“It will distract me from my work,” he claimed, and John rolled his eyes.

“What work? Everything is broken.”

Sherlock held up the black triangle in response. “This. Dr. Hooper and I have found the secret, and now it is even more intriguing puzzle than before.”

“Didn’t really ‘find’ the secret then, did you,” John muttered as he turned to leave. Sherlock ignored him and went back to his computer screen, where he had been sifting through Molly’s study of Thebes, the planet where the triangle had been found, and through the general database, looking at all the information the expedition had discovered so far about the Beta Quadrant. John glanced back at the scientist before exiting the room and shook his head. When Sherlock Holmes found a mystery to solve, there was nothing that could distract or prevent him from doing so, even if it meant isolation from anything and anyone else; John understood that. What he thought was odd, however, was how much Sherlock was willing to work with Molly, tolerate her presence when he was focused on whatever oddity had caught his attention. The doctor smiled a little and strode through the corridors to the lift. Maybe his influence was rubbing off a little after all.

 

* * *

 

The crew went in shifts to the space station. Lestrade wouldn’t let the ship be without minimal crew capacity for any length of time, a defensive tactic the crew didn’t question. It was still a strange part of space they were in, and they had to work with the knowledge anything and everything could happen, good and bad. However, that didn’t stop them from having fun aboard the station. New friends were made, new memories had, and plenty of souvenirs bought. John and Mary invited Molly along when it came time for their day ashore, an invitation the anthropologist happily accepted. She had grown quite fond of the Watsons, and they of her, and a friendship formed that wasn’t a result of Sherlock being a common factor. Though – Molly had to admit to herself – she sometimes felt a bit like a third wheel. John and Mary were still relative newlyweds and that day on the station they acted every bit like newlyweds. Part of Molly just wanted to excuse herself and flee back to the ship to either read a good book, or help Sherlock, but then the other part of her said that would be rude. They did invite her after all, though it seemed after the first hour they forgot all about her. She hung back and dawdled at stalls, and finally, growing tired of walking aimlessly with two people who would obviously rather be alone, she made her excuses and started back for the ship.

It was on the way back that she noticed a large crowd gathering in front of a stall she and the Watsons had passed by earlier. It sold replicas of local system ships, rather good ones too, but at prices that were a bit too steep for Molly (though she had considered buying one for Sherlock). When Molly and the Watsons had passed by before, it was fairly busy, but now it seemed as if someone had opened the floodgates. The crowd was arranged in a circle around the stall, but didn’t seem interested in its wares. Molly, curious, moved forward, gently pushing others aside so that she could see what was happening at the front. Sometimes it really was a bother being short. When she reached the edge of the crowd she gasped. A body was lying in a heap in front of the stall, a long knife stuck, from what Molly could tell, fairly deeply in the victim’s side. Blue blood oozed from the wound, and was slightly phosphorescent, making the area immediately around the body glow eerily. What shocked Molly the most, however, was that, not five feet away from the body, knelt Lt. Amkreth. He spotted Molly and she moved forward to him, her training as a doctor kicking into gear. She knelt beside him and began to look him over, checking his pulse and his eyes, which were opened wide and dilated.

“Are you alright?” She asked gently, and Lt. Amkreth nodded. “Did you see what happened?” The lieutenant frowned and shook his head slightly.

“I… I don’t… I don’t know…” he murmured, his voice shaking in a way that, quite frankly, sounded scared. “I can’t remember anything… anything after leaving the Baker. Dr. Hooper,” he spoke now clearly, in his usual Vulcan tone. “I believe my memory has been wiped by the perpetrator of this crime. We should contact the authorities and Captain Lestrade immediately.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock was forced out of his mind palace by the sound of his door announcing a visitor. He stood from his chair and stalked to the door, a deadly scowl on his face. If people didn’t stop interrupting him when he was thinking, he was going to have to take a shuttle someplace isolated.

“Holmes?” Lestrade’s voice shouted. “Are you in there? Open the door!” Sherlock was tempted not to answer, but a note in the captain’s voice alerted him to a problem. He pressed the button and the door slid open to reveal a slightly red-faced Lestrade, face frowning deeply. Sherlock gave him one look and quickly deduced something had happened to one of the crew on the station. An odd pang of worry went off inside him for John and Molly, but he quickly dispelled it.

“I expect that you’re here because you want my help in whatever case your crew has gotten themselves mixed up in?” he said blankly. “Rather serious trouble, I see.”

“How- oh, never-mind. Yeah, I need your help. We need to get aboard the station.” The captain turned abruptly and started off back down the corridor. Sherlock sighed in frustration and followed, though he made sure to secure the door to his quarters. It would do no good if that triangle went missing.

“Who is it, by the way?” he asked, having quickly caught up to Lestrade. The captain gave him a brief sidelong look.

“Lieutenant Amkreth,” he replied. “Dr. Hooper found him next a murder victim in the street.” Sherlock’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. His brief moment of relief to hear no one in his close circle of acquaintances had been involved was replaced by interest and surprise.

“Was the Lieutenant responsible for the crime?”

Lestrade shook his head. “No. At least, that’s what he’s saying. And you know Vulcan’s. If they murder someone they’re going to be honest about it and say why. Except…”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Except what, Captain? Why is it you need me?”

Lestrade stopped just outside the airlock doors that would lead them to the space station and turned to face Sherlock, his expression grave. “He can’t remember what happened. Someone wiped his memory. Considering your… talent, in discovering murdering scum, I thought maybe you could help find out who did this. Not just the murder. To be honest that’s the station’s problem and while I’m sorry the poor bastard died, I don’t really care one way or another about solving it for them, but it was the murderer who violated Amkreth’s mind, and I won’t stand for a member of my crew being harmed.”

Sherlock met the captain’s eyes and nodded once, his hands clasped behind his back. “I will do all I can to find the perpetrator, Captain Lestrade.”

Lestrade nodded as well and opened the airlock doors. “But try not to destroy anything or make an official angry. I would like to leave this place on good terms.” He added, giving the scientist turned detective a pointed look.

“I thought you said you wanted this solved?” Sherlock asked sharply.

“I do. Just don’t do anything that will get us kicked out of the quadrant.”

 

* * *

 

The port police had to be convinced to let Sherlock in on the details of the case, what little there was, Sherlock noted. The authorities had very few good facilities, due to the face the entire police station was crumbling. The chief explained that a miniscule amount of funds ever made it to them, almost all of it eaten up by corrupt officials. “We do the best we can with what we have,” he said, and lead the way into his office. Sherlock took all in around him while Lestrade and the chief of police talked. The chief was a tall, greenish-blue male, with a deep and gravelly voice, most likely due to some unfortunate smoking habit. His specie was similar to that of an Andorian from the Alpha Quadrant, only without hair, antennae, and the skin was covered in intricate tattoos. Sherlock wondered if this was some sort of cultural or personal choice. He decided to ask when the case was solved. The office was an appalling clutter of old, probably unclosed, cases on datapads that were covered in dust. Other than the mess it was rather boring and Sherlock decided he didn’t need to be there for Lestrade’s talk with the chief.

“If you don’t mind, Captain,” he said, now turning to Lestrade. “I think I’ll go see the lieutenant now.” He turned to leave, ignoring the captain’s protest and the chief’s indignation. He made his way to where he had deduced earlier they were holding Amkreth for questioning. On the way to the chief’s office, Sherlock had seen a small corridor at the back of the building which lead away into a darker passage. Having seen no holding cells at the front of the station, he assumed that was where they all were. The lieutenant wasn’t in the chief’s office, or anywhere else in the lazy office, so he must have been taken to the holding cells. “Lestrade won’t be too happy about that,” he said to himself, striding toward the corridor. He ignored anyone who attempted to speak or talk to him, and if they stepped in his way he gave them one look and told them to talk to their chief.

He found the holding cells just a yard or two down the corridor. They were even dingier than the main offices and floor of the police station, and each one was occupied by what appeared to be the scum of the quadrant. He walked down until he found Amkreth, who had been given his own cell; but no, he wasn’t alone. Sherlock frowned and stood at the door of the cell, waiting for the two inside to notice him. The Vulcan sat on the edge of the chair provided inside, speaking calmly with a clearly agitated Molly Hooper, who was quite upset, from the looks of it, that Amkreth had been thrown into a holding cell.

“It’s not right!” She cried in frustration as she paced back and forth. “You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“They do not know that, Dr. Hooper,” Amkreth replied. “I do not know for certain.”

“Bu-”

Sherlock cleared his throat and both officers turned at once toward him. “I do believe I could help determine that fact.” He said, enjoying the look of surprise on Molly’s face. Amkreth was placid as usual, irking Sherlock. Vulcans had a nasty habit of being unreadable, which frustrated the man to no end, despite his admiration of their society and ability to curb their emotions.

“Sherlock, what are you doing here?” Molly asked. He looked her over and raised a brow.

“What are you doing in there?” he said instead of replying. “You weren’t also taken into custody.”

She huffed out a breath and scowled. “No. I stayed here for Lt. Amkreth. He was hurt, confused, and I wanted to make sure they didn’t mistreat him. They tried to get me to leave, but I wouldn’t. They finally gave up and let me stay.” She smiled now, a bit smugly.

“Dr. Hooper has been very kind to stay, though I assured her it was unnecessary,” Amkreth added.

“It was necessary,” Molly insisted. “I wasn’t about to let you stay in this place without representation of some sort. And I’m not leaving until they let you out.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the anthropologist. “I don’t think you need do that, Dr. Hooper,” he said slowly, his eyes flicking briefly toward the other cells. The goons inside were staring at the little group of officers. “Lt. Amkreth is a Starfleet officer and as such has been trained to take care of himself.”

Molly flushed angrily and went to the door to face Sherlock directly. “I’m not leaving,” she said firmly, enunciating each word clearly. “Someone attacked him, his mind, I want to be here in case there were complications. That’s it.” She finished, her tone leaving no room for argument. Sherlock looked at her for moment, his eyes studying her, deducing her. Molly met his gaze with her own stubborn look.

“Very well,” he said quietly. Suddenly, from the pocket of his trousers, he produced the key to the cell. “I will come in.” Molly took a step back as he unlocked and opened, then stepped inside the cell.

Molly looked up at him incredulously. “How did you…”

“I pickpocketed the chief.” Sherlock replied, with not a small note of pride in his voice. “He won’t notice they are gone for another twenty minutes, at least.”

“How interesting.” Lt. Amkreth noted. Sherlock smiled and stood in front of the Baker officer.

“Now, Lieutenant,” he clapped his hands together. “What do you remember about the incident earlier?”

 “I was walking through the marketplace,” Amkreth began. “Perusing the wares visually to see if anything was of interest. I saw nothing that I would wish to buy, until I approached the stall with the model ships. I stopped, and that is all I remember until Dr. Hooper appeared beside me.”

As Amkreth told his story, Sherlock watched him; watched him for any signs of remembering, or lying about, what happened. He saw nothing, and once again internally cursed Vulcans for being virtually emotionless.

“Did you notice anyone strange before you blacked out?” Sherlock asked, simply for prosperity. He was certain if the lieutenant had noticed anything or anyone that was out of place, he would have said as much. As expected, Lt. Amkreth shook his head.

“No, Dr. Holmes. I noticed no one out of the ordinary before losing my memory.”

“SHERLOCK.” Lestrade and the chief hurried into the cells area, both with angry expressions. “What did I tell you earlier?”

“You told me you wanted the case solved,” Sherlock replied with a sneer. “That is what I am attempting to do.” Molly and Amkreth exchanged glances and stayed quiet, waiting for their superior and his appointed detective to acknowledge them on their own.

“You know what I mean,” Lestrade snapped. “Get out of there. How did you even…” His shut his mouth suddenly as Sherlock produced the keys from his pocket again, a smug smile on his face. The chief noticed as well and fruitlessly checked his pockets, then began to shout angrily at Lestrade, speaking so quickly that the universal translators on the crew’s badges couldn’t decipher him, which Molly was thankful for, frankly. She preferred not having to hear alien sailor curses shouted in such close proximity. It was bad enough in the cells as it was. As Lestrade and the chief exchanged words, Sherlock stepped out and relocked the cell door.

“When I return,” he said. “I will have the answer to this puzzle and, if all goes well, Lieutenant, you will be able to return to the Baker.” The Vulcan bowed his head in thanks. Sherlock looked at Molly now. “I think I know better than to ask if you will come out of the cell.” She smiled a little and nodded.

“I’m not going anywhere as long as Amkreth is here.” Sherlock pondered this, wondering if there was some other reason than Molly’s kind nature that kept her in the garbage hole of a holding cell.

“Very well,” he murmured. “I will try to be expeditious. Though,” he looked with disgust at the chief. “I don’t know if I’ll get any cooperation.” He looked down again as Molly came close to the door, her smile growing as she looked up at him.

“I know you can solve this and get Amkreth freed.” She said confidently. “You’re Sherlock Holmes. The smartest man I know.”

Sherlock slowly smiled in return and nodded. “I know.” He said and strode out of the holding area, leaving Lestrade behind and shouting at him as he left.

 

* * *

 

John met Sherlock at the crime scene upon the request from the newly-appointed detective of what had happened. Sherlock was kneeling beside the models stall as John hurried up, his eyes focused on the pool of blood from the victim. He straightened up when he noticed John.

“And Lestrade is actually giving you free reign on this?” the doctor said incredulously after Sherlock explained the situation, to which Sherlock nodded.

“Reluctantly,” he added, amused. “I don’t think it was his preferred choice. Though obviously the only choice if he wants Amkreth freed. I only agree because it’s an intriguing puzzle.”

John gave his friend a reproachful look. “It really had nothing to do with a fellow crewman being arrested for a crime he didn’t commit?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “We cannot conclude he didn’t commit the murder, John.” He could his friend about to mouth a protest and continued. “Surely you, a man of science, can agree that coming to a conclusion unsupported by any evidence, especially in connection to a crime, is faulty logic. Amkreth is, in all probability, innocent; however, I would like to have the evidence to support it before making the assertion with any confidence.”

John’s lips formed a thin, grim line, and he nodded. “You’re right,” he admitted quietly. “So let’s get the evidence.”

Sherlock smiled, excitement plain on his face. “I do believe I already have.” He presented a strange, metal cylindrical object from behind his back. It had a single button at the center, with two dials, one at the top, the other at the bottom, with alien characters engraved on them. John gave it and Sherlock a dubious look.

“And what is it, exactly?”

“The memory device used on the lieutenant to prevent him from identifying the perpetrator of the murder.”

John’s eyes widened and he took a half step away from the object. “Be careful with that thing, Sherlock,” he said warningly. “You don’t know how it works.”

“On the contrary, John. It’s actually a very simple device. One only needs to turn these dials to focus the beam in either a wide or narrow stream and press the button…” his finger hovered over said button, much to John’s chagrin.

“Okay!” He exclaimed, holding his hands up. “I don’t need a demonstration. I trust you.” Sherlock frowned in disappointment, but put the memory device in his coat pocket, which John just then noticed. Apparently Sherlock had foregone his uniform and was wearing his civilian clothes - trousers and a plain shirt - including his old Belstaff. John never could understand his friend’s affection for that coat when there were so many better insulated ones available. “Anyway,” the doctor shook his head to bring himself back into the situation. “Where did you find that thing?”  Sherlock motioned with one hand toward the rear of the stall.

“Whoever used it dropped it as they made their escape. I attempted to follow in their footsteps, but there are too many viable routes to determine which one was taken by the murderer. However,” he turned around to face the main street. “I believe we can find the seller of this device and determine who bought it.”

“How are we going to do that? Did the murderer leave a receipt?”

“No. The manufacturer’s name is engraved into the side,” Sherlock responded, his tone mater-of-fact. “I have already ascertained where the shop is located, since you took your time coming here.” He strode off at that, leaving John behind. The doctor rolled his eyes and trotted after his friend.

 

* * *

 

The shop-owner of the store that produced and sold the memory devices was very (surprisingly so) forthcoming with the information the two men needed. Apparently the particular device Sherlock found had been sold to a woman named Tajeel Olark two weeks before. He even provided the address. When asked how many people had memory devices, the shopkeeper shrugged and explained that, while expensive, they weren’t uncommon, though technically illegal.

As they left the shop, John shook his head angrily. “The police! They can’t even keep illegal devices out of the hands of civilians! They shouldn’t bear the title of ‘law enforcement’.”

Sherlock listened to his friend’s outburst, bemused. “What does it matter, John? Excluding today, these police are not our concern. I’m sure at some point there will be reform of some sort.” He said.

“But the people are suffering!” John exclaimed. “We can’t-”

“Can’t?” Sherlock stopped walking abruptly and turned to face John. “Isn’t it our prerogative, under the Prime Directive, Can’t? We ‘can’t’ interfere for fear of disturbing the natural flow of life. We ‘can’t’ get involved.”

John was quiet for a moment. “You know that’s something I’ve begun to question, Sherlock,” he admitted softly. “Is it such a wise policy?”

Sherlock shrugged and started forward again. “That is a complaint for Starfleet.” He replied shortly.

John scowled but decided not to press the matter; it wasn’t what was important just then. Amkreth had to be the focus.

They reached the woman’s home a few minutes later, which was situated in a compound of hovel-like structures that were stacked up on top of each other, right up to the ceiling of that floor of the station, a maze of staircases crisscrossing over each home. Olark’s home was on the third row of the compound, one of the smallest flats in the structure. It didn’t seem to be the home of a person who could afford a memory device. John and Sherlock rang the bell beside the round, metal front door and waited for an answer. None came.

“Maybe she’s not at home?” John suggested. Sherlock frowned and narrowed his eyes. He reached forward and, with one finger, pushed the door open. On the inside of the one-room home, just a meter from the door, was the body of who the men could but only assume was Tarjeel Olark.

“Now we know why she wasn’t answering the door,” Sherlock remarked as he stepped inside the room. “John, I do believe your expertise is what’s needed now.” The doctor blinked at his friend and for a moment was slightly confused, but quickly the surprise faded away and he knelt beside the body alongside Sherlock, his professional attitude kicking into gear. He examined Olark’s body with his eyes, having no gloves to be able to safely do so with his hands. The cause of death was fairly obvious, though.

“Stabbed. At least three times in the chest, once in the back from the look of the blood flow. Also, she died about a day ago. Long before the Baker arrived.” he announced. “Poor thing… I suppose we ought to alert the authorities.” He added, not a small not of disdain in his voice. “Not that they will do justice for her.”

“Hmm. Do you notice, John, how clean this place is?” Sherlock responded absently. He had taken to wandering around the apartment with his tricorder, turning round with it, the lights on it steady until he passed it over a couch, the only piece of furniture in the room besides a small table and a single chair. Then the lights spiked and Sherlock grinned and dropped to his knees to peer underneath the couch. “Ha!”

John stood up and crossed over to his friend. “Did you find something?”

Sherlock straightened and smiled at John as he held up a small piece of brown cloth, torn from someone’s sleeve it seemed. “I have. The murderer.”

John glanced at the scrap of material and back at his friend. “That’s a rag.”

Sherlock gave John a disappointed look and stood. “This has DNA on it; DNA that does not match Olark, Amkreth, or the victim at the market, whom, as we now know, is actually the second victim.”

“You caught that with a tricorder? There can’t be enough DNA on that scrap for a tricorder to determine that!” John shook his head.

“I modified mine to be able to detect minute amounts of biological and chemical materials. It wasn’t hard, you know. When we get back, I should petition Starfleet to do the same for all tricorders.” Sherlock pulled his communicator badge from his coat’s other pocket. “There was similar DNA on the memory device, which I extrapolated and programmed into the tricorder to find. It did, on this cloth. Captain Lestrade,” he spoke now to the communicator, leaving John to once again shake his head in wonder at his friend. “I have new information for the investigation.”

 

* * *

 

When the station police arrived, John watched their every move in order to ensure that Tarjeel Olark’s remains were treated properly. He wasn’t going to let them get away with planting, removing, or damaging anything, for Tarjeel’s sake as well as Amkreth’s.

While John was overseeing the care of the body, Sherlock was explaining to Lestrade and the police chief just what they had discovered. “I believe we can determine the perpetrator by running his DNA through your database,” he said, looking at the chief. “Since you keep DNA files on all your citizens and everyone who visits the port, it shouldn’t be hard to find him.” Lestrade scowled and turned to the chief, who looked like he was about to explode he was so angry.

“How could you know that?” the chief asked gruffly.

Sherlock smiled smugly. “I do, that’s enough. Will you, or will you not run the DNA?” he grew serious. “Or must I release that information to your people?”

The chief glanced at Lestrade and back to Sherlock, obviously struggling with his decision. “Are you truly letting your _subordinate_ speak in such a way?” he asked Lestrade angrily.

“Sherlock Holmes is technically a civilian. I have no control over his actions.” Lestrade replied simply. “I suggest you do as he asks.”

The chief growled and turned to one of his lieutenants to bark out an order. “You’ll get what you want,” he said as he faced Lestrade and Sherlock again. “Anything else you need?”

“Actually, yes.” Sherlock said, folding his hands behind his back. “You will release Lieutenant Amkreth immediately, and purge all illegally obtained files on the Baker and her crew.”

“Done.” The chief snapped. “And in exchange you will forget about those files.”

Sherlock smiled. “We’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock and John were the port police when they stormed the murderer’s home. By the reaction of the man, he was obviously not expecting the intrusion. He was quickly subdued, though protesting the entire time, and screaming curses in his own, guttural language, which were mostly aimed at the humans present. Sherlock took special note of this and added it to his deductions about the case. It was all falling into place quite nicely. When the police and their visitors from the Baker returned to the station, Sherlock gathered the chief and Lestrade in the chief’s office to explain to them the reasons for why the murder happened.

“You couldn’t possibly know without questioning the suspect,” the chief insisted irritably. He sat down in the chair at his desk and folded his hands (which were actually tentacles) over his rather generous-sized belly.

“I can, actually,” Sherlock replied lazily. “It’s all so very obvious. I really am flabbergasted when you people are unable to observe when it’s so simple.”

“Sherlock,” John, who had been by Sherlock’s side, spoke in a warning tone. “Just tell us why it happened.”

Sherlock sighed and spoke quickly, already bored now that the case was solved. “The suspect heard of the Baker’s docking, through the usual grapevine on this station, I suppose, and began to put into action a plan we can assume he’d had blueprints of for a long time. It was fairly well executed, except that he dropped his memory erasure device. He is a radical that blames newcomers to the police station for the trouble. He wanted to make a point and decided to pick a member of the Baker’s crew to further his agenda. He murdered someone at random because Lt. Amkreth was there, deleted Amkreth’s memory of the incident, and ran. I believe he was interrupted from implanting any new memories, which was why he dropped the device.”

The chief stared at Sherlock, dumbfounded. “Then who was the woman? Why was she involved?” he asked.

“Middle-man. She bought the device, with funds supplied by him, so that there was no connection to him. He killed her because she knew his face. Probably assumed she would never be found. I can’t say I disagree.” He then turned and walked out, done with the situation. John cleared his throat, gave a polite smile and nod to the police chief, saluted Lestrade, and followed after Sherlock. As they walked out they saw Molly with Amkreth, who was being led out of the holding area. She turned the Vulcan and whispered something to him. He nodded once in response and she hurried forward to Sherlock, who turned abruptly to meet her; John nearly walked right into the outside door as a result.

“Sherlock! I’ve got something to tell you!” Molly’s face held an expression of excitement. “It’s about…” she stopped and looked around, as if afraid to be overheard. “Well, you know, the _triangle_.”

“That thing we found on Thebes?” John queried. Molly nodded eagerly. “What about it?”

Molly looked about again and chewed her lip. “Perhaps it would be better if we returned to the Baker,” Sherlock said slowly. Molly looked relieved and nodded again.

“Oh, and Sherlock,” she smiled. “Thanks for helping Amkreth.” Sherlock smiled in return, but upon finding John grinning at him, the detective turned stoic once again.

“It was an intriguing case. I would have been sorry to miss it,” he said. “Dr. Hooper, I’ll see you aboard the Baker.” He turned and strode out, followed quickly by John, who chastised him about being rude to Molly. Sherlock tuned him out, focused mainly on what Molly could possibly have discovered about the triangle in that holding cell. A small part of his mind also wondered about the developing closeness between the anthropologist and the Baker’s navigator. He quickly pushed away those thoughts, though, and walked more quickly, earning a protest from his shorter friend.

 

* * *

 

 

Molly met Sherlock and John in Sherlock’s office and lab. She walked in seemingly unperturbed by their sudden exit earlier and got right to the point.

“One of the prisoners mentioned Moriarty while Amkreth and I were in the holding cells.”

Sherlock was very rarely surprised, or if he was, he was able to quickly conceal the fact. Now, however, he didn’t bother even trying to hide it. “Who? Molly, it is imperative you remember who!” he exclaimed, standing up from his lab’s desk chair.

“Well, I do, so just calm down,” she laughed. “One of the prisoners in the cell adjacent to ours. His name was Iot. He was talking to a friend of his, I suppose. I didn’t catch his name… He was tall, I remember… and was covered in a hood. I couldn’t see his face.”

Sherlock shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. What about Moriarty?”

Molly glanced at John and back at Sherlock sheepishly. “Um, you see, Iot didn’t say much after that… not that I could hear, I mean. After he said Moriarty’s name, everyone went silent. It was as if even the very mention of the name was enough to terrorize them. His friend whispered to him, and Iot didn’t say anything else I could make out.”

Sherlock sat back down in his chair and pressed his hands into the prayer position just under his chin, his eyes closing as he leaned back. Molly and John both recognized this behavior. Sherlock was in his mind palace again. They moved to the other side of the room to give Sherlock silence, both of them well accustomed to his bouts of sudden stillness as he went into deep contemplation. As she filled John in on the details about what she and Sherlock were investigating, Molly couldn’t help wondering what went in on in the brilliant man’s head…

 

_His very name induces fear in those that hear it… unsurprising, really, considering he has the capability of destroying entire continents… this man, the man Iot was talking with… he knows something more… I must find him. He knows who Moriarty is._

_I must find him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been patient waiting for updates and leaving kudos!


	7. The Blockade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whispers of Moriarty heard aboard the spaceport causes Sherlock to pour more of his time into Molly’s research, almost taking over completely, which irritates her and a falling out ensues, while Lestrade tries to negotiate with a blockade of alien ships whose space the Baker is attempting to pass through.

Stardate 2434.3.20, Open Space, Beta Quadrant

 

The Baker spent almost two weeks in the Terealka Space Port being repaired, and in that time Sherlock spent nearly all hours aboard the port, searching for any other news of Moriarty. He went to the police not an hour after Molly’s tale to question the prisoner Iot and his ‘friend’. He learned, however, that both had been released not minutes after Molly and Amkreth had. This urged Sherlock onto a course that consisted of exploring the space station with – because his friend was prone to be vocal in his disapproval of the manner in which Sherlock was behaving – without John at his side. Sherlock felt that Moriarty, whoever he was, was vital to their mission in the Beta Quadrant. He learned little from the station, only whispered rumors that he eventually found to be untrue, or no one would speak to him about it at all. Moriarty’s name was taboo, it seemed, which only spurred on Sherlock. When the Baker left port, it became worse, if that were possible. Sherlock took over Molly’s lab and her work on Thebes, the only connection he had to Moriarty. It was getting to the breaking point for the anthropologist, except that any time she would begin to chastise him he would meet her brown eyes with his blue and explain how direly important the work was, and that he had to continue. She couldn’t argue with him, and, if she were honest with herself, she shared the curiosity and urgency he did about the matter. However, certain things just could not be tolerated, even for Sherlock Holmes, and one of those things was his complete usurpation of her laboratory.

“That’s enough, Sherlock. Out.”

“Molly, I’ve told you already, I need this lab! I cannot move the relics to mine, as you yourself have repeatedly pointed out.”

“You can use the computers! Or the replicator to make a copy!” Molly had her hands on her hips and was glaring angrily at her fellow scientist and insufferable friend as he sat at one of her lab tables and pulled a microscope forward. “You need to leave!”

Sherlock met her gaze coolly. “You know perfectly well, Molly, that replicators are no substitute for the real object.”

Molly crossed her arms. “But what about my research, Sherlock? I can’t do anything with you in here, taking up every pocket of space!”

He brushed her argument away with a wave of his hands. “No research is more important than mine. This study… Moriarty… is in the present. You focus on the past. It’s of little value.” He turned back to his work, done with the discussion.

“You’re using the relics from Thebes, Sherlock,” Molly snapped, not going to let the matter drop. “You’re using the past just as I do!”

“Thebes was destroyed not more than a year ago. It doesn’t count.”

“That is so infuriatingly arbitrary and wrong,” she stated. “I don’t understand, if you think my work is of such little value, why did you even invite me on the mission?”

“I’m beginning to question that very decision!” He twisted around in his seat to look at her. “Will you shut up now? I can’t focus with you buzzing about my ear. Honestly, Molly. You are quite correct. I wasn’t actually the one who suggested we bring an anthropologist. It was the captain. I saw no use for one, and certainly not one who chatters on and on about her cat, the latest gossip in Nine-Forward, or how delightful replicator chocolate is. All you do is dust off old bones and pottery, which has no effect on the present or this case. Your work is the least important in probably the entire galaxy, and most certainly on our ship. However, I see no point in moving the objects to my lab when yours has the same facilities.” He turned back to his microscopic study of the triangle. “My work is the only reason this laboratory is of any use.”

He was satisfied when he didn’t hear a response, and thought she was finished arguing with him, but after a brief moment he felt something twist his chair around and was suddenly facing a Molly he didn’t know. Her face was an angry cloud, her lips drawn into a thin line, her entire body rigid. It stunned him so much that when she raised her hand and slapped him hard across his cheek, he didn’t dodge, or even flinch. 

“Get out of my lab.”

“Molly…”

“Now, Dr. Holmes.”

Sherlock frowned and realized she must truly be upset. She almost never used his proper title anymore, not when they were together in the lab. He thought they were past those formalities.

“Molly,” he said softly, trying one of the looks he knew always worked in getting her to agree with anything he asked. She laughed bitterly in response, the last thing he was expecting.

“Oh, no,” she shook her head, her eyes hard. “I want you and your obsession out of my lab within the hour. If you’re not, I’ll call security and have you thrown out on your ass. It’s nothing less than what you deserve, Dr. Holmes.”

Sherlock stood up, understanding how serious she was, if not exactly why. “No need for that, Dr. Hooper,” he replied coldly. “I will leave immediately and send one of my assistants for any work I can take out of your lab.”

Molly nodded curtly and turned on her heel, stalked to her office, and let the door close behind her. _So, that’s what he really thinks._ She sat down heavily at her desk and let her head fall back to stare up at the ceiling. Tears were in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. He wasn’t worth it.

Sherlock stood and stared at the office door for a minute, his expressionless face hiding the utter shock he felt at what had occurred. His mind flew back over the conversation, trying to find the exact place Molly had taken offense, because obviously something he had said changed her mood. No, her very feelings for him. She was livid. Angry Molly was a sight rarely seen, however he had observed the reaction before, but this… this was on a completely new level. When he had mentioned her work… ah. His mind palace worked through the problem.

_He had attacked her work, her very reason for being on the ship._

_Anthropology was her passion. He had said it was useless._

_He had essentially said she was useless. Definitely not good._

_“You’re learning, Sherlock,” John’s voice floated through his head, sarcastic. “Congratulations for thinking of someone else’s feelings for once. Probably too late, though.”_

_“Shut up,”_ Sherlock snapped back, and left his mind palace. He had hurt Molly. Badly. In a way only he could manage. What made it was worse was that it was possibly irreparable. He huffed out a breath and left the lab, his mind once again whirling to find ways to make up for it so that he could go back to work. _Wrong._ So that he could have Molly’s friendship again. He put a hand on the cheek she’d struck, just now feeling the pain.

 

* * *

 

Two hours after Molly and Sherlock’s confrontation in her labs, Sherlock and John were having a heated discussion about the incident on the bridge. Sherlock had gone there as a distraction, once again taking Ensign Kramer’s place there, to her annoyance. The Beta Zoid had turned to her captain to complain but Lestrade only shook his head wearily.

“Just let him,” he muttered. “He probably won’t move anyway. He’s in a mood.” Kramer grunted and went to stand at the next station over, muttering a curse in her native language. Sherlock had tuned everyone out until John had appeared and started to angrily berate Sherlock for what he had said to Molly. _I see Molly and Mary’s relationship is as close as ever._ Sherlock thought sullenly. He waited in silence for John to finish his irate tirade, as the rest of the bridge crew listened in awkward interest. Lestrade had turned his captain’s chair around to watch, as was the captain’s privilege, his face one of bemusement. On his bridge, there was no such thing as a private conversation, and he didn’t mind exploiting that if someone was foolish enough to have one. Ensign T’lak and Lt. Amkreth exchanged a similar look between them, while Lt. Jollop and Commander Donovan tried to diligently continue their work, though Donovan was the verge of throwing both the doctor and his friend off the bridge, possibly through the airlock.

“How could you say things like that to her?” John exclaimed. “To anyone? I thought, of all people, you’d manage to refrain from being a complete prat with her!” And so it went on, with John threatening to make Sherlock take classes on being nice, and Sherlock pointing out there was no such thing. “You know what I mean,” John snapped. “You just can’t treat people like that, Sherlock. She was really hurt.” Sherlock saw out of the corner of his eye Lt. Amkreth shift slightly at his navigation station. Sherlock scowled, and watched as Amkreth rose from his seat to approach Lestrade. He couldn’t hear what the exchange was, but saw Lestrade raise a brow, but nod, and Amkreth left the bridge. A young ensign took his place at navigation.

“Are you listening to me?” John exclaimed. “Sherlock, I’m trying to get you to understand the seriousness of what you did!”

“I understand, John,” Sherlock stated sharply. “Believe me, I understand, so you can stop chastising me!”

“Captain, we’ve got three large signatures approaching at Mark 3.50, at our starboard!” Ensign T’lak suddenly piped up. Lestrade immediately swiveled his chair around and frowned. “Show on the view-screen.” A picture popped up of the space to the right of the Baker which showed three large, what appeared to be, warships slowly moving forward.

“Yellow alert, all hands to their stations,” Lestrade said grimly, and immediately the ship’s lights flashed yellow and the computer’s voice sounded the alarm over the comm. Sherlock and John stopped their discussion and stood at the science station together, both men rigid in anticipation of what might happen. Neither had a good feeling about the ships.

“Captain Lestrade,” Lt. Jollop’s soft voice came clearly from her station at communications. “We are being hailed by the ships, sir.”

“Open the channel,” Lestrade ordered.

“Earthship Baker,” a slow, deep, monotone voice came over the connection. “You are entering Kaleemi space. We request that you turn back, or we will destroy you.” The connection was cut before Lestrade could respond.

“Well,” the captain sighed. “This is a pretty situation. Ensign T’lak, full stop, red alert. Commander Donovan, get the senior crew together and have them in my Ready Room now.” He stood up and headed for the door to the room, just adjacent to the lift.

“Doctor Watson,” Donovan’s voice trailed over to John and Sherlock. “You heard the captain. Ready Room now.” John stood straight and nodded curtly in acknowledgement before following Lestrade. “I guess I’d better get Lieutenant Amkreth back up here too,” Donovan muttered. “He had perfect timing, leaving… Where did he go anyway?”

“Commander Donavon,” Sherlock spoke up. “I believe I know where the lieutenant is. I can alert him to the situation.” Donovan gave Sherlock an incredulous look.

“I can just use the comm,” Donavon said slowly. “But, uh, thanks for the offer.” Sherlock glanced at the communications station and grunted.

“Of course,” he murmured, and started for the lift. He cursed himself for purposely missing the obvious just so he would have an opportunity to spy – because, yes, that’s what it was – on Molly. He was more than half certain that Amkreth had gone to see her. That bothered Sherlock, though he didn’t know why, but it was a problem that he needed to disappear. He entered the lift, deep in thought. For whatever reason, Molly’s budding relationship with Amkreth was disturbing. Every time Sherlock saw them together he became irritable and sullen; he hated it. Perhaps, then, it was better that Molly and he had a falling out. Loss of whatever sentiment was causing Sherlock to be bothered would put the world right again. She was a distraction, for whatever reason, and now, that distraction was gone. He stood up straighter as the lift came to his destination, satisfied that he could now continue his work free of bother. Only, as he left the lift, he realized he was back on Deck 10. Molly’s lab location. He growled out another curse and stalked back into the lift, telling it to go to the _right_ floor. Stupid machine.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, so we’ve got a blockade on our hands,” Lestrade addressed his senior officers from his place at the head of the Ready Room table: Commander Donavon, his first mate; Lieutenant Commander Barton, chief engineer; Lieutenant Jollop, communications officer; Lieutenant Amkreth from navigation, Mary, who was head of security, and John, the chief medical officer. Each one had expertise and experience which the captain valued and relied upon, and now he looked at them all expectantly, needing that expertise more than ever. “I’ve got half a mind to just go around Kaleemi space, but we have no idea how long that would take. Our only other option is to negotiate passage through.”

“They do not seem willing to give us that passage, sir,” Lt. Jollop said softly, as was her species wont. She was a Deltan, tall, stately, smooth skinned, and bald. As an officer, she was incredibly talented in learning and understanding different languages. The best since Nyota Uhura, in Lestrade’s opinion. “They have not even answered any of our hails.”

“I agree with Lieutenant Jollop,” Amkreth said. He looked placidly at his captain. “They are not going to be an easy people with which to communicate.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Lestrade said, rolling his eyes. “But even if we decide to go around their space, we’ve got to talk to them to find out how big it is! I’m not turning this ship around, for any reason beyond a losing battle.”

“Aren’t we outnumbered?” Barton piped up. “Seems like a losing battle to me.” Lestrade turned a dark look on his chief engineer.

“We’re not in a battle. We’re not going to be in battle. I want to do all we can to avoid that. Maybe we could trade something…” Lestrade said quietly.

“Like what, sir?” Donavon raised her eyebrows. “We’re not a merchant ship, and if you’re thinking information, what could we possibly have of interest to the Kaleemi?”

“I don’t know… information?” The captain ran a hand through his short-cropped, salt and pepper hair. “Cooperation?”

“Captain, I do not think that would be a wise decision.” Amkreth said. “They might very well ask us for cooperation in a situation in which we have no jurisdiction or desire to be involved. The Prime Directive-”

“Yes, I know what the Prime Directive says!” Lestrade exclaimed. “Give me enough credit to understand that, at least! The Kaleemi’s society obviously doesn’t apply to the Prime Directive.”

Amkreth looked placidly at his captain, unbothered by Lestrade’s short attitude. “As far as we understand, sir.”

“Well, yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Lestrade rolled his eyes and leaned forward, his hands splayed across the table. “Alright. Let’s try to figure out why they won’t let us through in the first place, and then we can decide how to proceed. Jollop, keep trying to hail them. Tell them we’re on a peaceful mission, one of exploration, and invite them aboard. Maybe that will warm things up.”

Jollop bowed her head. “Aye, sir.”

“Everyone else, that’s the plan. The only plan, unless they do open fire. I want the ship on yellow alert until we get all this sorted out. Dismissed.” Everyone began to file out, and Lestrade blew out a breath and looked at the screen in his read room, which held a view of the impressive looking blockade. Donovan hung back, watching her commanding officer for a moment.

“Sir. We need you on deck,” she said gently. Lestrade shook himself from his thoughts and straightened his uniform.

“Right.” He said decisively, and stalked out of the ready room, Donovan on his heels.

When they entered the bridge again, Jollop was already hard at work attempting to get the lead Kaleemi (really any of them) ship to answer the Baker’s hails. It seemed fruitless, however, as every one of her signals was met with static. Even with the word of the Baker’s captain that their mission was for peaceful exploration, the Kaleemi ships stayed in stoic silence. The ever patient Jollop kept it up though, determined to not let her captain or fellow crew down. Lestrade watched impatiently and finally, after having quite enough, appeared at Jollop’s side. “Ask them why.” He ordered. “Why are they blockading us? What possible reason could they have?”

“Sir, are you sure?” Jollop looked up at her captain with concern. “They might not respond well...”

“Any response is better than none at this point.” He replied shortly. “Do it, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, and proceeded to follow his order. Minutes went by and silence remained. Lestrade had just about given up when the same slow, deep voice suddenly reappeared.

“You are... marked. You have... been... marked... by Donas.” It said.

“Donas?” Lestrade scowled. “Master of the Kaleemi ship, with all respect, we have no idea who you mean. In an effort to clarify this misunderstanding, please, I invite a delegation of your choice aboard the Baker.” He waited for what seemed an hour before the Kaleemi captain once again responded.

“Very well... send us coordinates and we will come.”

“Jollop, you heard them. Tell the transporter room to prepare for our guests. I’m going down there right now.”

“Yes sir!”

Lestrade had just reached the transporter room when the selected members of the Kaleemi blockade arrived. The three delegates were tall, about seven feet average, with dark coloring on opaque skin that seemed to shine and waver in the light. They had long necks with rounded head and large, clear, crystalline eyes, a severe contrast to their dark skin tones.

“Welcome aboard the Baker,” Lestrade said, in his official voice. “I am Captain Gregson Lestrade, I command this ship.”

The foremost Kaleemi, whose face was covered with a white veil, turned to Lestrade, and replied in the same deep voice that they had heard before. “I am Lesola, Commander of the Kaleemi Space Fleet. We are... apologetic... in our unexplained hostility.”

Lestrade was surprised to say the least with this penitent introduction. “Ah, yes, well, I’m sure it was not without reason. We just don’t know what that reason is. Please, come to my Ready Room, and I’m sure we can clear this up.”

The Kaleemi all bowed their heads and stepped regally off the transporter platform, their long, blue gown-like uniforms sweeping the floor as they followed Lestrade. When they reached the Ready Room, Mary, John, Jollop, Amkreth, and Donovan were already there, waiting in their official capacity as the senior officers. Barton came in late, just after the Kaleemi had taken their seats at the large conference table.

Lestrade, having given Barton his best disciplinary look, turned the Kaleemi. “I hope your visit to the Baker means that you understand we no harm.”

Lesola bowed his head. “Indeed. We have... come to know this...”

“Yes, well,” Lestrade cleared his throat. “Thank you. But, why did you think we were hostile? If you don’t mind me being so straightforward, who the hell are the Donasians and why have they ‘marked’ us?”

Donovan shifted slightly in her seat, unsure and uncomfortable with how direct the captain was being. Just minutes before the Kaleemi had threatened to blow the Baker out of the sky, and now they were apologetic and open. They were unpredictable, and Donovan didn’t like that at all. It seemed, though, that the captain had no such concerns, as he ignored her subtle warning.

The Kaleemi leader glanced at his companions before answering, still in the same, painfully slow cadence. “You... your ship... you discovered the ruins of... Hotono.”

Lestrade frowned. “You mean the green planet with the pyramids? Yes, we did. We called it Thebes. Nice to know the real name.”

“Yes...” Lesola paused. “It was marked... by the Donasians.”

The captain and his officers each felt a chill up their spine. “They destroyed it.” John said quietly. “They utterly destroyed it.”

“That is what it means... to be marked... complete destruction.” Iol nodded. “You have been marked.”

“Why?” Lestrade exclaimed. “We’re on a mission of exploration. If we’ve done anything against the Donasians, we’re completely unaware of it!”

Lesola looked piteously at Lestrade and his crew. “It has... come to our attention... the Kaleemi... that this is so... However, you are marked... anyone who assists you is marked... Moriarty will come for you all who help you...”

“Moriarty!” John sat straight up. “Captain!”

“Yes, Doctor, I know.” Lestrade’s face was grim. Iol looked between them curiously.

“You have heard this name... before?”

“Yes,” Lestrade nodded. “But we had no idea who he was, though we were aware of his power. Hotoro gave us that clue. We also came across his name on the Terealka Station. Can you tell us why he’s marked us?”

Lesola shook his head. “We cannot say... He is unpredictable. Dangerous. Moriarty and the Donas have... plagued the quadrant... for decades. Many have died at their hands...”

“I’m sorry,” Lestrade said quietly, deeply disturbed. Moriarty had, for some inexplicable reason, a vendetta against the Baker; and all the species in the quadrant were terrified of him, and for good reason. If Hotoro was an example of Moriarty’s power, than The Baker and her crew had little chance against him and his. “Thank you for sharing this information with us. I assure you, we don’t mean to put your people in harms way. We’ll find another way around your space.”

Lesola once again glanced at his fellow Kaleemi. “We... could... we have a... suggestion...” He said, even more slowly than usual. “A nebula... close by... provides cover... your ship can pass through our space...”

Lestrade felt hopeful. “You will give us the coordinates?”

“Yes... if you swear to never come near Kaleemi space again.”

The captain felt a twinge of uneasiness about promising such a thing, but could see no other recourse. Going around Kaleemi space would put three more months on their mission, and possibly give Moriarty an opportunity to strike. After a moment’s thought he nodded. “I swear. The Baker won’t attempt to pass through Kaleemi space again, nor will we ask for your assistance. Moriarty is our problem. We have no intention of involving others beyond what they are willing.”

“Thank you, Captain Lestrade... we are grateful... and sorry.” Lesola sounded through his slow voice truly regretful. In any other circumstances, Lestrade felt sure The Baker could have made good friends with the Kaleemi people.

“It’s quite alright, Commander.” Lestrade smiled. “What you’re doing for us now, we are truly grateful.”

The Kaleemi delegation left shortly thereafter, having given the coordinates to the nebula to The Baker’s navigator. The ships blocking the way moved off and allowed The Baker to pass, then followed them to the nebula. After a brief message of thanks and regret from both sides, The Baker entered the nebula, the crew worried and downright scared of what might meet them on the other side. If Moriarty knew of the Kaleemi’s generosity, would they go after that people as well? Most likely he would. The crew were now not only afraid for themselves, but also for every single species they had come across that had helped them in some way.

The final frontier had become, once again, the most dangerous.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! Huzzah! Months of writer's block for this particular fic and I've finally gotten a new chapter! Thanks to everyone who has left a kudos and bookmarked this work! I really appreciate all of you! I hope you liked the new chapter!


	8. Through the Nebula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock fixes things with Molly. John and Mary find out Mary’s pregnant. Sherlock finally has a breakthrough in the search for Moriarty.
> 
>  
> 
> (Please forgive my rubbish summary. I am terrible at writing them.)

Stardate 2434.3.26 – Kaleemi Nebula

 

A week later The Baker was still traveling through the nebula the Kaleemi had guided them to, as its expanse was far greater than the crew had initially thought. Because of the nebula’s instrument-altering properties, the ship was forced to move slowly, and even then instruments sometimes went offline, or sent opposite signals from reality. The effects of the nebula were disturbing, but every member of the crew understood it was necessary in order for them to have the remotest chance of evading Moriarty.

Sherlock, after hearing the details about the meeting with the Kaleemi, delved ever more deeply into his research on the triangle found on Thebes. The new information on who had made the triangle sent him in a more specific direction. Even with the new-found fervor he hadn’t forgotten the rift between Molly and he, though he hadn’t yet done anything about it. Which was more from pride than lack of realization he’d done any wrong. He had never apologized to anyone, except maybe John, and had trouble reconciling with the fact he would most definitely have to apologize to Molly. Possibly more than simply an ‘I’m sorry’; and now the entire issue was grating on him so much that he couldn’t properly concentrate on his work. A visit to Mary would be necessary, he decided. She and Molly had developed a close friendship since the start of the mission, and she would know how he should proceed.

After the fourth time of Molly coldly ignoring him – on the turbolift as they were both on their way to the mess hall; Sherlock had tried to make ‘small talk’, but was pointedly shut out by the petite doctor – Sherlock decided to actually make good on the prospect of apologizing. He made his way to Deck 21 in the hope Mary would offer him guidance. He strode purposefully into the Security headquarters, ignoring the yellow uniform that protested, and barged into Mary’s personal office. She was discussing something (probably not important. Certainly not as important as Sherlock’s business) with Commander Donovan, and when Sherlock entered both women looked up in surprise, Donovan’s expression quickly morphing into irritation.

“Dr. Holmes! What do you think you’re doing?” She exclaimed angrily. “Lt. Morstan and I are in the middle of an important conference!”

Sherlock ignored her, as he was wont to do, and focused his gaze on Mary. “I need your assistance. It’s of grave importance.” Mary looked between Sherlock and Donovan, and took a breath.

“Sherlock, Commander Donovan was here first, and since she is our superior...” She trailed off, hoping he would get the hint. Thankfully, he caught on. Sherlock glared at Donovan in response and swept out of the room. He began to impatiently pace in front of the office, and as soon as Donovan had gone twenty minutes later he stormed back in and dropping himself into the vacant chair. Mary watched him with a raised brow, and tapped the surface of the tablet on her desk lightly. Despite Sherlock’s abrupt entrances, it seemed he was reluctant to actually speak.

“Sherlock. What’s wrong?” Mary had an inkling she knew, but wanted to hear a confession from him. The man looked at her with a scowl.

“I need to apologize to Molly, but she won’t even talk to me.” He said at last. “Congratulations by the way.”

Mary frowned. “I’m sorry? Congratulations for what?”

“For the new addition. I’m sure John will be very happy. What do I do about Molly?” He looked at her expectantly, and wondered why she was looking at him in such an odd manner. Oh. “You didn’t know.” He sighed. “How vexing.”

“I-I’m pregnant?” Mary stuttered, her face going bright red. Not only from happiness, but also from embarrassment that Sherlock had been the first to find out, even before herself!

Sherlock nodded. “Of course you shouldn’t take my word as absolute, but yes. Now can we please get on with my problem?”

“What? Oh, yes, of course... Molly is it?” Mary shook her head to dispel the blissful, giddy feeling that had suddenly come over her, as the prospect of having a child with John filled her with joy. “What’s the matter again?”

Sherlock huffed out a frustrated breath and bounded out of his chair and began to pace the floor in front of Mary’s desk, hands flailing wildly about as he spoke. “She won’t speak to me! She doesn’t even acknowledge me! How am I supposed to apologize if she won’t even look at me?”

“Ah, you want to apologize at last? The great Sherlock Holmes, scientist and the galaxy’s only consulting detective, is willing to humble himself? I’m shocked.” Mary took great pleasure in the scathing look Sherlock sent her way.

“Are you going to continue to mock me, or are you actually going to help?” He asked in a clipped tone.

Mary rolled her eyes. “I’ll help you the best I can, Sherlock, but I can’t predict if Molly will actually forgive you. You were rather terrible to her. I wouldn’t blame her if nothing you did was good enough.”

Sherlock scowled, an expression Mary was positive was concern. “That is not helpful, Mary.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be, you idiot. I’m being honest with you. You’re going to have to work really hard to make up to Molly.”

He ran his hands through his hair, disrupting the neat locks, in frustration. “I don’t understand! Why is it that whatever I said affected her so? This is ridiculous and distracting me from my work!”

Mary gaped at him. “You don’t even understand why Molly was upset? My, you are stupid for being so smart.” When Sherlock once again sent a scowl her way, Mary sighed. “Sherlock, sit down and let me explain.” He set himself once again in the chair opposite her desk, though not quietly. His fingers drummed a manic rhythm on his knees. Mary took a deep breath and began. “Molly looks up to you, as a peer, a colleague, and as a friend. She admires you greatly for what you have managed to accomplish, and, Lord help her, loves you for it.” Sherlock’s scowl deepened, and he opened his mouth to protest but Mary held up a hand to stop him. “Yes, loves you. If that wasn’t obvious then you are truly an idiot, and not as good a detective as you tout. So, when you said all those awful things to her, it must have felt like being stabbed in the heart.”

Sherlock was silent with his eyes closed, and Mary guessed he was either stunned or actually humbled by her revelations, as a visit to his mind palace was somewhat an important event. After a minute he opened his eyes and looked at her seriously. “What would you suggest I do?” he asked quietly, sincerely.

Mary smiled ruefully. “Go to her, in the same attitude as you have now, and apologize. And for your own sake, Sherlock, don’t in any way even _imply_ that she is somewhat to blame.” She spoke sternly. Sherlock sniffed, as if he was offended.

“And what if she won’t listen?” he asked. “I can’t very well apologize if she refuses to hear me.”

“Then you write her a letter,” Mary frowned. “It’s the right thing to do, Sherlock, whether she forgives you or not.” 

He sighed heavily and stood again. “Thank you for your guidance,” he said.

Mary smiled again and stood up as well. “You’re welcome. Let me know how it goes. Maybe, if she doesn’t listen, I can talk to her.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly and he raised a brow. “You would do that?”

“Of course! Both of you are my friends, and I don’t like seeing either of you in pain.”

“I’m not in ‘pain’,” Sherlock stated grumpily.

Mary hummed thoughtfully and gave him a doubtful look. “In any case, off with you. I’ve got work to do and a med bay to visit. Thanks for that, by the way,” she added, her face transforming once again into a happy smile. “Make sure you don’t say anything to John, though.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He had never understood the desire for the father’s ignorance in such cases until it was the ‘right time’ for him to be told, but he nodded in agreement anyway. He respected Mary and knew John wouldn’t be happy about being spoiled before she had a chance to tell him. He stepped out of Mary’s office with a clearer idea of how to go about making Molly agreeable again. _No,_ his mind corrected, in Mary’s voice no less. _Of making things right._ Oh joy. Now he had her in his head along with John’s insufferable recriminations.

 

* * *

 

Molly was in her lab alone reading _A Tale of Two Cities_ , a book she had brought with her from home. Since entering the nebula, there wasn’t a lot of actual work for her to do, though she was still deciphering runes on relics from Thebes – no, the Kaleemi had called it Hotoro. In any case, she had decided to take a break and was now fighting back tears as she read her favorite Dickens novel. She was so engrossed she didn’t hear the door to her lab opened, and jumped when a deep voice, soft and achingly familiar and missed, enquired if she was alright. She dropped her book and turned in her chair, her eyes widening when she saw Sherlock Holmes standing over her desk. His hands were behind his back and his face held an expression of curiosity and... what appeared to be actual concern. But that didn’t stop her from quickly growing angry at his intrusion into her personal space, when she had strictly forbidden him from coming back. “What are you doing here, Sherlock?” she asked coldly, and stood and picked up her book, which she pulled protectively to her chest.

“You read physical books still, not the datapads.” He said. “I don’t understand why. Datapads are much more useful.” He realized his statement was about to get him thrown out and quickly tried to cover. “However, books are invaluable historical objects that should not be dismissed.”

Molly narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing here, Sherlock?” she repeated. “I thought I told you that you weren’t welcome in my lab anymore.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, you did.” He cleared his throat and peered at her, deducing her mood and coming to the conclusion that if he didn’t say just the right things, she would most assuredly call security on him. Then Mary would throw him in the brig. “However, I am asking for amnesty, for just a few minutes. Please.”

Molly was caught off-guard by his request, and how sincere he sounded. “Um, alright,” she said slowly, now curious as to what he wanted. “What is it?”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “I came to apologize, Molly. My behavior the other day was abhorrent and inexcusable. The things I said were untrue, and not my own sentiments at all.” He looked at her anxiously before continuing. “In fact, I believe that your work is an invaluable asset to this mission. Without you, we never would have discovered the secret Moriarty’s triangle held, in addition to the many occasions your knowledge of anthropology has been an advantage on the away missions you accompanied. It is true...” he added slowly, and saw her stiffen slightly, but he continued before she could interrupt. “It is true I did not personally choose you for this mission. However, I am forever grateful to John, who did choose you, as well as the others. If left to my own devices I would have preferred it had only been John and I, but I wasn’t, which led to a much better reality. You are important to this mission and I am truly sorry for insulting you and your work.”

Molly stood and stared at him the entire time he spoke, utterly dumbfounded. When he finished she just continued to stare at him, wondering at the fact that Sherlock Holmes had just apologized to her, and hadn’t mangled the job entirely. She tried to wrack her brain for other instances where he had said he was sorry, to anyone, but couldn’t find one in the time she had been with him on The Baker. Realizing that he was waiting for her to say something, she swallowed and looked up at him, trying to find something to say. Did she forgive him? He seemed so contrite now, and really did sound as if he truly were sorry for what had happened. It must have taken him a lot to humble himself.

“Molly?”

She started, and realized that she had been staring at him the whole time, probably with her eyes narrowed in concentration. Quickly looking away, anywhere but directly at him, she cleared her throat and settled on looking at his shoulder. He had completely thrown her for a loop. “Yes... um, well. Sorry. I mean, you surprised me, that’s all.” She explained. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually apologize. Much less properly.”

Sherlock blinked, trying to understand. “You aren’t angry anymore?”

Molly finally met his gaze, hers a bit stern. “I’m still angry at you. Those were terrible things you said!” When Sherlock looked disappointed – even sad, throwing Molly into a deeper spin – she softened. “But I do forgive you.”

The man standing before her, one Molly thought she knew as a narcissistic, high-functioning sociopathic genius, who couldn’t care less about any other person beyond how useful they could be to him, actually smiled in relief. A genuine smile, which caused Molly to smile in return. “Molly Hooper. Can we be friends again?”

“Yes, Sherlock,” Molly nodded, her smile turning into a grin. “We can be friends again.”

 

* * *

 

Finally being able to rid his mind of the distraction of his and Molly’s falling out did wonders for Sherlock’s concentration. After leaving Molly’s lab he had gone straight back to his and settled down to decipher the clues the expedition had found so far on Moriarty. Cryptic messages The Baker had intercepted from other ships in the quadrant had eluded to the distant planet the mysterious Moriarty had come from. Along with the information from the Kaleemi, Sherlock, after only a half-a-day of intense study, managed to discover the location of the planet Donas, Moriarty’s home-planet. Once discovered, her sped to the bridge, excited to inform Lestrade.

There was one area of the quadrant, he explained to the captain, that every ship steered away from, that every peoples seemed to fear. Star-maps from the places The Baker had visited always stopped short of drawing it, and when they bothered, it was always dark and starless. “That is where the Donas planet is, and that is where The Baker needs to go.” He finished triumphantly, peering excitedly at the bridge crew, who were staring at him, some with mouths gaping. Lestrade was one of these, the most incredulous.

“Let me see if I have this right,” he said, slowly sitting up straight in his chair. He pointed a finger deliberately at Sherlock. “You want me to direct my ship and my crew, into the very heart of the territory of the most feared entity in the quadrant?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you mad?” Donovan exclaimed. “You are! You are stark, blinking mad!”

“No one asked for your input, Commander,” Sherlock snapped.

“No,” Lestrade stated bluntly.

“The captain agrees with me.” Sherlock sneered at Donovan, who rolled her eyes. Lestrade shook his head.

“No,” the captain repeated. “I mean we’re not going in there.” Sherlock began to protest and Lestrade put up a hand to stop him. “We’ve already, for God knows what reason, pissed this person off so badly he wants to destroy us. Actually going to where he lives would be suicide.”

Sherlock’s jaw tightened as he fought to control a frustrated outburst. “Captain Lestrade,” he spoke slowly. “I believe it is for this expedition’s best interests if we charted that area. Moriarty is most likely not even there. Finding out more about him and his abilities would be invaluable to this crew’s safety.”

John (who had been dragged onto the bridge by Sherlock after the man had burst into his office in a whirl of excitement and pulled the doctor to his feet) now looked between the captain and his best friend. He didn’t know what Sherlock was really up to with wanting to go to the Donas system, but he felt fairly certain it wasn’t just for The Baker crew’s safety. John wondered if that argument would be enough for Lestrade to change his mind, but one look to the captain’s face as he faced Sherlock said that the bridge was in for quite the shouting match that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter, yay! I want to thank all of you have been waiting for this fic to update and have left kudos. I'm afraid I can't guarantee a another new chapter soon, but they will keep coming! Promise!


	9. Donas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock leads an away team on Donas One and discovers something unsettling about the planet.

Stardate 2434.3.29 – System 4302 (The Donas System)

 

Lestrade was not easily won over. In fact, it took nearly the rest of the journey through the nebula to get the captain to agree to Sherlock’s plan. Even then Lestrade had many stipulations for allowing Sherlock’s scheme, which was, in short, to find and scout out the Donas System’s main planet with an away team and get back to the ship after learning what they could. This meant getting close enough to the planet that a shuttle could reach it with no trouble.

“One day on the planet,” Lestrade had demanded. “Not a second more!” He added before Sherlock could protest. There was no argument with the captain after that. Sherlock - and whoever his away team would consist of - had only one day on the mysterious Moriarty’s planet to gather intelligence. Now Sherlock’s challenge was to assemble his away team.

John would go, of course, he thought as he paced his quarters. They would need a competent medical officer. Mary would have to suggest a security officer that would be reliable. There was no way John would agree to her going on the mission. Especially in her current condition. Sherlock preferred to have the bare minimum for the away team. John, a security officer, a skilled pilot for the shuttle, and himself would be ideal. A voice in the back of his head told him Molly was also essential, but Sherlock stubbornly chose to ignore it. _The smaller the team the better_ , he told himself. It had nothing to do with possible concern for the petite anthropologist’s safety. Sherlock strode purposefully out the door of his quarters, ready to assemble the mission’s team.

 

* * *

 

The Baker was in position a short warp jump away from the Donas system’s main planet, one which the Captain had very simply dubbed ‘Donas One’. Lestrade had Amkreth set the ship behind the system’s blue sun, as camouflage from any long range sensors from the planet or any starships. The captain gave his reluctant go-ahead to commence Sherlock’s plan.

The team was boarding the shuttle when the bay doors opened and Sherlock heard short and angry footsteps headed his direction. From the look on John’s face – an amused smirk – it was Molly. He turned around to see an angry, purpose-driven Dr. Hooper come towards him, her brown ponytail swinging uncontrollably behind her.

“Dr. Holmes!” The petite scientist stopped abruptly in front of Sherlock, who slowly turned his head down to meet her gaze. Though she tried to display nothing but cold professionalism in her demeanor, her brown eyes glittered with anger and her cheeks were flushed a bright pink. He swallowed guiltily. “I am going to assume that the reason I was not included on this mission’s roster was because you had a lapse in judgment.”

Sherlock put his hands behind his back and looked sternly down at Molly, determined not to let her read his emotions. _Damn sentiment._ “Dr. Hooper, the reason I did not include you on this away team is because I don’t think you would be beneficial to this mission.”

“Explain.” She snapped.

“I...” Sherlock pursed his lips, unable to think of a good reason. “We don’t have time.”

“Alright. I’ll explain why I _should_ be on this mission. As an anthropologist I am trained to study different cultures, including their languages and customs. Two things that are vital to understand if this away mission is to be discrete. The entire purpose of me being aboard the Baker is for missions like this. Your best chance of this away team being successful and coming home safe is to bring me along.” Molly took a deep breath, walked onto the shuttle, and took a seat. Sherlock stood for a moment in silence before he followed her and as he sat gave John a warning look not to speak a word. The doctor simply sat in his own seat and continued to smirk. Sherlock getting corrected or told off was a favorite thing of John’s to witness, especially from Molly.

Seeing the tall, broody, egotistical man lectured by the tiny, usually warm and patient, doctor was a brilliant picture.

The shuttle took off a few minutes later, the party aboard prepared for the day and half trip to the planet where the mysterious Moriarty had his headquarters. Captain Lestrade and his bridge crew watched it fly around the sun and out of sight.

 

* * *

 

The shuttle trip was fairly uneventful in regards to any outside interference. The status inside the little ship, however, was a different story. For the entire first day Sherlock did all he could to avoid talking to Molly, in spite of any effort on her part, which made her quite angry. She finally broke the second day. After the third attempt of hers to engage Sherlock in discussing the plan after landing the shuttle, she called him out and they started to argue in earnest. Ensign Qurv, the Klingon security member Mary had sent along, and Ensign Juniper, the pilot (who Sherlock had noted had a flawless flight record in her files when he was choosing the away team; he would have to discuss having the young ensign on helm control more often with Lestrade), tried to keep their heads down and not listen to a discussion that was obviously quite personal. John attempted to intervene but was shut down by both parties. Eventually the three innocent bystanders left to sit at the helm so that the other two could argue themselves out in relative privacy.

“Honestly, Sherlock!” Molly exclaimed. “I thought you meant it when you said you valued my skills!”

“This isn’t about the obvious merit of your skills, Molly.” Sherlock snapped back.

“Then what is it about? Why won’t you listen to me? Or include me on vital planning for this mission?” Molly was so frustrated at this point she had the urge to slap Sherlock. It didn’t help that his face was like stone and impossible to read.

Sherlock muttered under his breath and walked in a quick circle, his hands flew through his hair. “This mission is dangerous,” he finally said as he faced her again with an irritated expression.

Molly scowled at his demeanor, but all the same was glad he showed _something_. “So is being on the Baker. You don’t seem to have a problem with that.”

“But this is different!” he hissed. “We’re dealing with a being who so far has proved to be quite dangerous.”

“Compared to anything else the Federation has come across? That both of us have seen?” Molly was even more confused. “Sherlock, joining the Federation required us to understand how dangerous missions could be. Any of us could be hurt at any time.”

“I wanted to prevent you from being hurt.”

He said it so quietly Molly almost thought she imagined the words. “You... what? Why?”

He frowned at her, the furrows of his brow deep. “Why? Why not?”

“Sherlock, you do have a habit of thinking about the results first and regarding the consequences later, if at all.” Molly gave him a half-smile. “It’s your passion for your work.”

Sherlock stared at her blankly for a few seconds, the thoughts whirling around in his head. He was slightly hurt she would think that, but then again, it wasn’t untrue. He did have a habit of putting the objective before the people involved.

 “I thought of you first,” he blurted and tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “Planning this mission, I thought of you first.” He watched confusion cross Molly’s face for a split second before realization hit her. Her mouth parted slightly and her cheeks turned pink.

“That’s why you didn’t want me to come?” she asked slowly. Her heart was beating a fast tattoo in her chest.

He nodded and stepped closer to her, his hands, previously folded behind his back dropped to his sides. “I couldn’t fathom possibly losing you,” he said gently, his voice a low rumble.

Molly had to tilt her head up to look at him he was so close. His eyes were wide and vulnerable, and spoke something that she never thought she’d see. Before she knew it her hands had come to rest on his shoulders and she was on tiptoe, her lips against his. It was a gentle, chaste kiss and for a heartbeat he barely responded. Then his arms slipped around her waist and he pulled her to him and deepened the kiss, very literally taking Molly’s breath away. She responded in kind; her arms slid around his shoulders, one hand into his dark curls. They were just as soft as she had imagined they would be. His arms tightened around her, as if he were afraid to let her go. For a few moments they knew nothing else existed except each other, but the spell was broken when they heard a low cough.

“About time.” John grinned from his position at the helm entrance.

Molly’s face turned bright red and Sherlock glared at his friend. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked, irritated. Molly was quite happily conscious that he had yet to relinquish his hold around her, though being caught in that position was embarrassing.

“Just long enough to realize the two of you might need a room.” The doctor replied. “Anyway, sorry to break up the moment, but I thought you’d like to know we’re about to enter Donas One’s atmosphere.”

“We’ll be right there,” Sherlock said. Once John had turned away – with another stupid grin on his face – Sherlock looked down at Molly again. “I won’t ask you to stay in the shuttle, but please stay close to me.”

Molly smiled. “Alright. As long as you do the same. Can’t have you getting lost on an unknown planet now, can I.”

Sherlock smiled and kissed her in the center of her forehead. “No promises,” he murmured, and they finally broke their embrace and made their way to the helm of the shuttle.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock took the seat beside Ensign Juniper as she guided the shuttle into the atmosphere of the planet. Molly stood behind him and looked over his shoulder. John was to her left and Qurv was standing behind her. As the away team surveyed the planet from above, they were awed by how lush and green it seemed to be. Though they couldn’t use the scanners (a precaution against being noticed by the planet below) they could tell it was a sphere teeming with life. A heavy storm seemed to be brewing on the southern end of the planet, where there was a city so large, it could be seen from the shuttle’s position as they descended through the atmosphere.

“I think there would be a good place to start.” Sherlock remarked.

John grunted. “How do we get in there without being seen?”

“We land the shuttle a few kilometers outside of the city and walk,” Sherlock replied simply.

“All I can see are tall trees and more tall trees,” John frowned. “How do we land when there’s no open space?”

“I can land any ship anywhere,” their Bajoran pilot said proudly. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Then land anywhere you like, Ensign,” Sherlock grinned eagerly. “We’ve got a planet to explore.”

The landing was a little bumpy, but Ensign Juniper kept her word and guided the shuttle safely down within a mile of the city. They had a little walking to do, so Sherlock had the team hurry and get their packs. They were all wearing nondescript brown clothes, no sign of any Federation insignia on them (their communicators were stowed discretely in their trouser pockets).

“Ensign Juniper, you monitor our communications from here. If anything goes bad, we’ll give the call sign and you get the shuttle flying and pick us up. Understood?” Sherlock looked at the young woman sternly.

“Understood, sir!” She nodded curtly. “I’ll keep the light on for you.”

With that the rest of the away team started the walk toward the city. Sherlock took the lead with Molly beside him, John behind them, and Qurv took up the rear. Sherlock took readings on his tricorder as they walked and was amazed at the level of biodiversity he was finding on the planet. Much of it seemed familiar.

Sherlock stopped abruptly and Molly walked two more steps before she realized Sherlock wasn’t there. “What’s wrong?” She asked.

“The elements that make up the mass of this planet are elements from Thebes, or rather Hotono. And quite a few others if I’m reading the tricorder correctly.” He said grimly.

“Well I suppose that makes sense. They’re all in the same quadrant. Surely they’d have a few similar minerals.” John said with a shrug.

Sherlock gave John his usual ‘don’t be an idiot’ look. “I don’t mean a ‘few similar minerals’, John. I mean that the elements of multiple planets can be found here in full. Including organic material that can only have been life-forms.”

John’s mouth dropped open and he looked at Sherlock’s tricorder over Molly’s shoulder. The readings didn’t lie. “So what you’re saying is that somehow those planets’ elements – and the people – were taken away and deposited here? How? That weapon?”

Molly shook her head slowly, thoughtfully, as she looked down at the tricorder readings. “What if... what if it’s not a weapon, but a harvester?” She looked between John and Sherlock. “What if somehow it just sucks all the life it can up from wherever they point it and is able to then deposit all that life back here?"

“Again, how is that possible?” John repeated. “You would have to have a machine with immense power...”

“Yes, John. Enough power to devastate a planet. Just like the lifelessness of Thebes.” Sherlock looked up toward the city. “That’s why this quadrant is so afraid of this Moriarty and his people. They are capable of ending worlds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the patience in waiting for this chapter! I hope Sherlolly happening makes up for how stupidly long it took me to get this up!


	10. Moriarty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The away team enter the city and Sherlock comes face to face with the mysterious Moriarty.

Stardate 2434.4.3 – Planet Donas.

 

The city was on a flat expanse of tall, emerald grass, and was made up of bricks and stones of a similar color. It reminded Molly of the Emerald City in _The Wizard of Oz_ , but not as inviting. There was a tall wall surrounding the city’s center, where a fortress-like building rose up out of the smaller structures. A guardian with ports climbing up the walls for deadly silver cannons which shone in the light of the blue sun overhead. The away team surveyed all this from the top of a nearby hill and all of them wondered just what perils lay in wait for them in the city. There was a pale brown dirt road which lead to and through the city and upon it were many travelers, possibly coming from farms in the area, as nearly all of them had hover-wagons laden with vegetables and fruits. Sherlock was using a pair of binoculars to view the travelers.

“They’re humanoid,” he remarked quietly, mostly to himself. “Very similar to Earth’s humans. I can’t see any discernable difference from here.”

“So we should be able to slip in unnoticed.” John sighed in relief, which caused Sherlock to raise an eyebrow at him in amusement.

“What did you think they would look like, John?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” the doctor said defensively. “Maybe green like the rest of this damn place.”

“You don’t normally have a problem with green species. I seem to remember a certain night with an Orion girl...”

“I meant it would be hard to disguise ourselves if they were green, you prat!” John interrupted quickly, his face turning red. Molly snorted as she tried to hold in her laughter. Qurv stayed silent and stoic, intent only on doing his job as protection for the group.

Sherlock shrugged and slipped the binoculars into his pack, which he slung back onto his shoulders. “If there are no objections, I suggest we start moving. Lestrade only gave us a day to scout this place out. I want to spend most of that in the city.”

It was fairly easy to slip into the crowd on their way to the city. No one else seemed to notice or care about the newcomers. Molly kept careful watch on the people around them as she searched for any cultural markers they would need to be aware of if they were to succeed. It seemed as if it was an egalitarian society, at least where work was concerned. Men and women were hauling the same amount of foodstuffs. Women weren’t in dresses or skirts, everyone wore the same sort of long trousers and short-sleeved shirts. The clothes came in all sorts of muted colors, though once inside the city, Molly noticed that the colors expanded into brighter tones, though nothing like the vibrant green of the city’s bricks. Almost everyone had a severe look on their face. There were very few smiles, even on the children.

“The children,” she murmured, which caused Sherlock to glance at her. They had managed to find a quiet, deserted alley from which to observe the people flowing past on the main avenue into the city. 

“What?”

“The children look so unhappy.” Molly gestured to three small children sitting on steps across the street. “Everyone does.”

John had his medical tricorder out and was discretely taking readings of the children. “They’re healthy from what I can tell,” he said. “They’re biology isn’t much different at all from human biology. Though there is a reading here I can’t quite figure out. I’d have to get closer.”

Sherlock was about to suggest they move on then when a loud drumming began. The away team looked up and saw speakers on the corner of one of the buildings they were between. Four times went the deep bass sound and then silence. Sherlock perked up and peered out into the street. All the people who had only moments before been milling around had entered into a single line formation along the side of the street, leaving the main avenue open. The alley entrance was fortunately left clear and the away team could watch what was about to happen without interference.

Four more times the drum sounded over the city and when the echoes ended there came the noise of heavy boots hitting the ground in the same four-beat rhythm. A chill went up Molly’s back as a large troop of soldiers all dressed in black went marching down the street. They were holding heavy looking silver rifles, each with a bayonet on the end. There was an emblem stitched onto their sleeves, a green crown floating above an intricate white M.

“Moriarty’s army, I assume,” Sherlock said under his breath. The team had moved forward slightly and now stood in line with the rest of the people on their side of the street. At Sherlock’s words an old man who was next to him turned slowly and stared at him with eyes that looked as if they wanted to kill. A few others also turned to peer harshly at the newcomers. Sherlock immediately noticed the change in mood and knew he had made a mistake. He caught John’s eyes and motioned backward as he grasped Molly’s arm and tugged her back into the alley; John and Qurv were right behind. Molly looked up at Sherlock to protest his sudden move but saw his grim face and closed her mouth.

Quick steps were heard behind them, but none dared look back as they hurried through the labyrinth of alleys to get to somewhere safe. The cries of ‘heresy’ and ‘kill them’ followed their escape.

“Ensign Juniper!” Sherlock had pulled his communicator out and tried to establish contact with their only hope for rescue. “Ensign Juniper, do read me?” There was nothing for a moment, then the ensign’s voice came over the communicator, but none of the team could hear what she was saying because it was full of static and interruptions. “Damn it!” Sherlock muttered. “They must have blocked communications.”

“That was fast,” John said breathlessly, trying to keep up with Sherlock’s long strides.

The heavy boots of the soldiers behind them seemed to fade, after a few more minutes to ensure they were out of danger they stopped to catch their breaths. They were hidden in a small space between two houses, what seemed to be a storage area from all the metal and wooden boxes littering it.

“How far is the gate from here?” Molly whispered. She was wedged somewhat uncomfortably between a wooden box and Sherlock, who wouldn’t leave her side, and John blocked her way out. Qurv was at the entrance as the lookout, his body tense and his phaser out.

“About twenty yards,” Sherlock replied. “We can make it as long as we stay quiet and together.”

“What do you think caused the soldiers to come after us?” John asked.

“I mentioned Moriarty’s name,” Sherlock answered. “Apparently it’s forbidden to do so here. Intriguing. He holds a lot of power.”

“Too much, I’d say,” John snorted. “And not the inspiring or good kind.”

“Sir!” Qurv turned. “They’re coming this way! We need to go.”

The away team hurried back out into street and heard the thumping of the boots again, this time closer and somehow more intimidating than before. They started to run when a group of soldiers came round the corner, their guns pointed up and ready to fire. Sherlock pushed Molly in front of him and hissed at her to go, though she didn’t need the extra encouragement. The speed she ran that day was the fastest she’d ever run in her life. She heard the soldiers yell and chase them and glanced back to make sure the others were with her. At that moment one of the soldier’s lifted her gun and fired. Out of the weapon came a purple bolt straight at John, painfully oblivious to the danger. Qurv did notice and acted, pushing the doctor out of the way and taking the bolt in his own side. He went down on his knees with a pained grimace and then collapsed. John scrambled to him and felt for his pulse.

“John! No time!” Sherlock shouted and ran to his friend, grasped him by the shoulders and hauled him up. “Molly go!” He yelled at her when she ran back to help.

 The soldiers were almost upon them at that point. Molly saw the entrance to the city just ahead of them. Whatever hopes that they could make it were quickly dashed when a line of Donas soldiers crossed into view and blocked their path. She tried to stop but instead skidded right into the line. Two pairs of strong, vice-like hands took hold of her arms. She struggled and managed to break away from one soldier who held her, and quickly took the opportunity to gut punch the other with her elbow, effectively loosening the soldier’s grip on her. She darted away but the first solider gave chase and tackled her into a wall, almost crushing her with his heavy body. Molly felt the wind knocked out of her and gasped desperately for breath. She could hear John and Sherlock struggling as well and saw Sherlock hit the ground as she was hauled up roughly and her arms were secured behind her. John was somehow still standing and engaged in the fight but came to a stop when a soldier, dressed in simple but commanding manner, in a black uniform and cape, stood over and pointed a gun directly at Sherlock’s head.

 “Stop what you’re doing or I kill him,” he growled dangerously. John immediately stopped and no time was wasted to shove to his knees and force his hands behind his head.

Sherlock slowly got to his feet – but was also quickly forced to his knees, Molly made to do the same beside him – and watched the new man warily. “Moriarty.”

The other man didn’t look impressed, but angry. “You will not say his name aloud, Holmes.” He snapped

“Wait, how do you know his name?” John asked.  

The man ignored John and whirled around, barked an order. Two soldiers attached themselves to Sherlock, John, and Molly each and marched them toward the fortress.

 

* * *

 

The three prisoners were taken to a highly secure room near the top of the fortress. It had a solid cement floor, a steel door, and cement walls. It also had a single metal chair, a small metal table, and only one window for light. If a prisoner looked outside, they got immediate vertigo. It was definitely meant to intimidate.

“The prison is at the top of the tower,” Sherlock remarked as he paced a circle, appraising the room. “Strategic.”

John rose from his position on the floor where he had been unceremoniously tossed by the guards. “Are you actually admiring these people?” he asked incredulously. “They killed Qurv! And are probably going to kill us!”

Sherlock sighed impatiently at his friend. “They obviously has other plans for us, John, as we are, in fact, still alive. And yes, I admire them to a degree. They has vast resources and know how to use them, or I should say Moriarty does. He’s quite the opponent. I’m looking forward to besting him.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together in excitement.

“That’s all this is to you, isn’t it?” John exclaimed angrily. “A game! It doesn’t matter that our lives, yours, mine, _and Molly’s,_ are at stake!” He pointed at the anthropologist, who was sitting on the chair at the table, her head rested on her folded arms. At hearing her name she lifted her head and frowned.

“This is his way of coping, John,” she whispered and winced. Being knocked into a wall had injured her chest and it hurt to talk, swallow, and breathe. John looked at her apologetically and went over to check on her. Sherlock watched, concern etched on his face. He wasn’t sure if he should go over there and comfort her or not. Their intimacy earlier had almost been forgotten in the earlier tumult and now he didn’t know if he were supposed to leave her alone or comfort her. For him relationships were definitely a new frontier.

“You don’t have to defend him being a git. Try not to talk, Molly,” John suggested kindly. His own injuries were minor: a few scratches and a bloody nose. “Let me look at you.” He examined her chest and back, his fingers pressed some points which caused her to tense slightly in pain, but when he was through he breathed a sigh of relief. “From what I can tell you’ve got some bruised ribs and a bruised chest. But I don’t think it’s anything serious to worry about.”

“Thanks, John,” Molly smiled wanly. She looked up and caught Sherlock’s worried expression, stood, and made her way over to him. She stopped inches from him and met his gaze, which was partially obscured by a fine black eye he had acquired in the fight. “I’m fine.” She assured him. “You need to not worry about me and find a way out of here.”

Sherlock looked at Molly sadly. “I’m sorry they hurt you.”

Molly took his hands in hers and squeezed them gently. “I know. But I gave them a couple of bruises too.” She smiled proudly and Sherlock’s expression morphed into wonder.

John watched from the table, his eyes darting between the two and a slight smile on his lips. Oh yes, he thought. Molly is perfect for Sherlock.

“That you did,” Sherlock nodded. “I’m sure they won’t underestimate you again.”

Molly chuckled but then grimaced in pain. “Hope not,” she gasped and laughed again, which only made her breathe harder.

“Molly, don’t laugh!” Sherlock exclaimed, panicked and confused. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because this reminds me of the time I tripped over my cat, back home.” She wheezed and leaned against the concrete wall, a bright smile on her face. “This feels like a cloud compared to the two ribs I broke attempting to bathe Toby.”

Sherlock and John both looked at each other and then back at Molly, amazed that she was able to keep her spirits up through the ordeal they found themselves in. The moment passed when the party heard three beeps and then the lock click. The door to their cell opened and three guards passed in and took positions at the door and opposite walls.

“Holmes.” The one standing in the doorway gestured to Sherlock. “Come.”

“Looks like I’m about to meet with our benevolent host,” Sherlock said wryly and winked at his two friends before he turned to the guards with a grin. “Take me to your leader.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock was taken through a labyrinth of halls and corridors, down to the ground-floor of the green fortress. The décor and art of the place became more and more elaborate as they descended and the walls grew taller, reminding Sherlock of the grand cathedrals on Earth. Soon they were before a pair of giant, black doors, complex designs carved into what Sherlock assumed was quartz. One of the guards knocked on the door twice, the echoes loud in the high-ceilinged hall. The doors opened a moment later and Sherlock was pushed into what could only be Moriarty’s throne room. It was reminiscent of Earth’s medieval period, with a large tiled floor (green and black), tall white pillars creating a faux tunnel, and a white throne on a dais at the opposite end of the room.

The prisoner walked deliberately and confidently, ignoring the heavily armed guards surrounding him. There were a few people milling about the room, watching with curiosity and disdain. Sherlock observed the throne was draped in black silk and lounging across it was a small man, dressed in all black clothing. There was crown of white and green metal upon his head, arranged slightly crookedly. He chewed on a fruit, something like an apple Sherlock noticed. At his right side was the man who had captured the away team, standing still and stoic. The man on the throne turned and stood when he noticed the prisoner approach.

“Sherlock Holmes! So glad to have you here at last!” he opened his arms wide in welcome. “Tell me, Sherlock – you don’t mind me calling you Sherlock? Of course not! – did you enjoy your little tour through my fortress?”

Sherlock frowned. “You’re speaking English.” He had thought that would be impossible. Their communicators had been taken away from them along with the universal translator technology inside them.

“But of course. It would be rude of me not to speak to my guest in his own tongue. You know who I am, of course,” he smiled in a serpentine manner.

“Moriarty.”

Moriarty’s smile grew wider. “I love your boldness. It’s quite refreshing. Even after my lieutenants tell you it’s forbidden.”

“You’re just a man,” Sherlock replied. “I call a man by his name.”

The ruler’s smile faded slowly. “By the end of your time with me, I think you’ll change your mind.”

“I’m very stubborn,” Sherlock smiled ruefully. “My parents tried to teach it out of me.”

“Perhaps they should have tried beating you,” Moriarty suggested casually. “That’s the best form of achieving obedience.”

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back. “You didn’t call me here to discuss my childhood.”

“No, I didn’t.” Moriarty sat back down and crossed one leg over the other. “You have done very well in finding my little paradise. Not many people even know where this place is, except the Kaleemi of course. Tell me,” he leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting. “How did you open the Triangle?”

Sherlock smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I would assume you knew how to open it since it is your technology.” Moriarty sat back and appraised Sherlock for a few moments, displeased.

“Indeed I do,” he finally said. “I am the only one who can open it. I made it so. However, you and your ragtag crew somehow managed to crack my Triangle’s secret. I don’t like people knowing my secrets.” He finished ominously. “So, what am I to do with you, Sherlock? Shall I kill you? Perhaps hang you and your friends in the city center?”

“A simple public execution isn’t your style,” Sherlock responded, glancing around the room before turning his gaze back to Moriarty. “I would think you’d have something more complex planned.”

Moriarty grinned in delight. “ _That is good_. What would you suggest?”

“A test of some sort. Something to match my wits against yours.” Sherlock replied. “It’s the only way you could know which one of us is the better.”

“Scrumptious, Sherlock. Positively scrumptious.” Moriarty practically slithered off his seat and slowly approached his prisoner. Sherlock met his captor’s eyes easily.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I simply love games, you know,” Moriarty added, moving in a circle around Sherlock. “Especially high stake ones.”

Sherlock remained silent and focused on observing, determined to give nothing away.

“Yes, I love games. I think you’ll love my games too.” Moriarty stopped and faced Sherlock again. “You’re like me. You _need_ something, anything to not be... bored. You won’t be bored with me Sherlock. Oh no, most definitely not bored.” He smile again, making Sherlock’s skin crawl, and returned to his throne.

“Excellent.” Sherlock said, determined to show Moriarty he wasn’t intimidated. “I can’t wait to begin.”

Moriarty leaned forward and rolled his head slightly to the right, but kept his eyes locked on Sherlock’s.

“Neither can I. Moran,” the soldier beside him immediately bowed where he stood.

“My lord?”

“Prepare the Trials.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to TheUnemployedPhilosopher for betaing and helping me keep everyone in character. Couldn't do it without you.


End file.
